THEY CLIMBED THE GREAT stone steps and headed down the main corridor of the Capitol building, taking a back elevator that let them off at a third-floor passageway near the Executive Offices. They sat waiting for a few minutes, watching the nice-legged secretaries moving back and forth. Occasionally, the Governor’s voice could be heard through the thick walls, a little like Grand Opera from a great distance. Jay McGown passed through the reception room, looking gloomy and efficient. He stopped and talked with them.
“He ought to be ready for you,” Jay said, looking back toward the Governor’s conference room. His attitude was not so much one of anxiety; Jay had more the quality, characteristic of those constantly exposed to Arthur Fenstemaker, of having peered steadily at the scene of an accident, experienced a revelation, seen death and redemption, God and Lucifer staring back, and somehow, incredibly, survived.
Jay started off toward the pressrooms down the hall. Almost immediately the Governor came banging out of his office, one arm draped round the shoulder of a state senator. The senator grinned at everyone, eyes glazed, the Governor leading him as a blind man toward the door. Then Fenstemaker turned, a great happy smile on his face. “Come on in, you two,” he said.
They got to their feet to follow him inside. Fenstemaker had already collapsed in his chair, stretching out, neck and spine resting against the leather cushions. They sat across from him and stared. Fenstemaker pinched his nose, moved a big hand over his face as if probing for minute flaws in a piece of pottery. He rubbed his eyes, sucked his teeth, punched holes in a sheet of bond paper with a gold toothpick. He stood and paced about the room and stared out the windows and scratched himself. “Well goddam and hell …” he said. It was like a high mass, a benediction.
“Let me do you a favor, Willie,” he said.
“What kind of favor?”
“I don’t know. Anything you ask. I just want to get you obligated,” the Governor said, grinning and winking at Roy.
“Don’t know of anything I want offhand,” Willie said.
“Think of something.”
“How ’bout some more of that Scotch whiskey then — the smoky twenty-five-year-old stuff you served me last month.”
Fenstemaker smiled, showing his shark’s teeth. “Hell and damn,” he said. “That’s no favor.” He swung round in the big chair and opened a side panel of the desk. There was the sound of ice clacking in metal tumblers, and he pushed drinks across to them. “Look at this,” the Governor said, setting a seltzer bottle on the desk top. “Damndest things … Used to see ’em in the movies when I was growin’ up. When I could afford a movin’ picture show.” He held the bottle in one hand and pressed the lever, sending a spray of water across the room. For a moment there was a fine mist suspended in the air between Roy and Willie and the sunlit windows. A lovely rainbow appeared.
“You’re a mean sonofabitch,” the Governor said, staring at the seltzer bottle. Roy wondered if he was talking about the bottle or his guests, until he repeated himself. “You’re a mean sonofabitch, Willie,” he said, still smiling.
“I’m lazy and no-account,” Willie said. “But not mean, especially.”
“You ever think about old Phillips?” He referred to a minor state official now serving a term in the penitentiary who was convicted on several counts of theft and conspiracy from evidence developed in Willie’s news columns.
“I think of him,” Willie said. “I keep thinking how I wish he’d come back and do it all over again. I’m running out of people to expose.”
The Governor spun round in his swivel chair, grinning. “Well you keep tryin’, Willie,” he said. “You keep tryin’. What’s your circulation now?”
“About the same as it was. About ten thousand. But only about six of it paid. We give away a hell of a lot of copies.”
“That’s not much,” the Governor said. “Ten thousand’s not much.”
“No.”
“How much money you losin’?”
“Lots.”
“I imagine so,” the Governor said.
“I try not to think about it,” Willie said. He looked unhappy for a moment, thinking about it.
“Where’s the money come from?”
“I’m not supposed to say.”
“You got to say now,” Fenstemaker said. “I give you that Scotch whiskey.”
“Various sources,” Willie said, raising his glass as in a toast. “I don’t know who-all. Rinemiller helped raise the original amount. Got it from people like Earle Fielding … Some others … Hell! You probably know who they all are.”
The Governor laughed and leaned toward them. “But it’s not your circulation, Willie — it’s the quality of your goddam readership.”
“Suppose they can all read,” Willie said.
“Now goddam I mean it,” Fenstemaker said. “Anybody who really cares about politics subscribes to your little paper, even if they don’t necessarily subscribe to your point of view. People who shape thinkin’ — policy makers, lobbyists, lawyers, judges, smalltime politicians.”
“There’s been no one else printing a lot of this stuff,” Willie said. “I suppose something’s better than nothin’.”
Fenstemaker looked delighted. “Exactly!” he said. “Whole basis my philosophy!”
“What’s that?”
“Somethin’s better than nothin’.”
“Half a loaf?”
“Slice of goddam bread, even,” Fenstemaker said. He changed moods suddenly. “Now about these hospitals …”
“What …?” Roy and Willie leaned forward, trying to follow the course of Fenstemaker’s conversation.
“Hospitals,” the Governor said. “You care about the hospitals?”
“Sure.”
“They’re a God-awful mess.”
“Worse than that,” Willie said.
“I got this little bill …”
“I know,” Willie said.
“I got the votes,” Fenstemaker said. “At least I think I got them. It’s not much of a bill — not half enough of an appropriation — but it’ll close up some of the worst places and build some new ones and bring in a few head doctors. And this little bill can pass is the main thing. I’ll put it through next week if I don’t get everyone all stirred up and worried about taxes and socialism and creepin’ statesmanship. You gonna help me, Willie?”
“How can I help?”
Fenstemaker slapped his desk and showed his teeth. “Oppose the goddam bill!” His face beamed. “But just a little bit, understand?” he said. “Don’t get real ugly about it.”
“I don’t understand,” Willie said.
“Those fellows in the Senate — they think this is all I want, they’ll give it to me. But if somebody’s runnin’ round whoopin’ about how good this is, settin’ precedents and havin’ a foot in the door and braggin’ on how much more we’ll get next year, then all my support’ll get skittish and vanish overnight.”
“I see.”
“Only don’t oppose it too much, either. You raise hell and your bunch won’t go along. They’ll introduce their own bill askin’ for the goddam aurora borealis. I need their votes, too. Just oppose it a little bit — oppose it on principle!”
The Governor paused a moment and considered the problem. “I want,” he said, beginning to laugh quietly, his sad eyes blinking, “I want unanimous consent and dead silence!” He roared his laughter at them.
Willie stirred and looked at Roy. Then he looked at Fenstemaker and said: “That all you wanted? We taking up too much of your time?”
“Oh, no!” Fenstemaker said. “Hell no. I got you two here for somethin’ else altogether. Just a minute.” He leaned across his desk and punched a button. A girl’s voice came on the speaker.
“Yes, sir?”
“Hah yew, honey?”
“Just fine …”
“Jay in there?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell him to get that machine of his and bring it in. Tell him I’m ready for a little transcribed soap opera.”
He leaned back in the chair, resting on his spine, looking as if he were in great pain. “How you get to be one of those goddam elder statesmen?” he said.