11

IT WAS ONE HELL of an interesting morning, Doug Fiore told himself. He sat alone at an umbrella-topped table in the lobby of the Spalding Bank building. At 2:15 he came out of the coffee shop where he purchased a cup of chicken soup and half a tuna sandwich for lunch. The umbrellas were there just to provide atmosphere, but the foot traffic going by gave the occupants of the several tables the feeling they were relaxing at a small cafe on the Via Venetto or the Champs Elysee. He took advantage of it to do some serious girl watching.

One of the messages waiting for Fiore when he got to the office that morning was from Dick Birnbaum, a corporate lawyer at WC&B who said he had a matter he wanted to discuss. Birnbaum tried to reach him the day before, in the middle of the afternoon, but Dana Briggs’s standing instructions were to tell anyone in the firm who called (with just a few exceptions) that Doug was unable to come to the phone. He invariably let at least half a day go by before he returned any call, and liked to use the time to anticipate what might be on someone else’s mind.

Fiore took the Herald sports page out of his briefcase after telling Briggs to let Birnbaum know he was free. The Super Bowl was being played that Sunday and he wanted to check on the starting time. He ignored the hype that filled the paper every day for the two weeks before the game, but monitored the predictions the local sports writers made on the outcome. On the final Friday, he always posted his own prediction of the score outside his office door. But he never made a bet on the game, even refusing to back up his forecast of the outcome with a five dollar contribution to the pool set up by the lawyers for the entry coming closest to the actual score.

Birnbaum arrived a few minutes later. He had a scowl on his face and stood by the door to the office, waiting for Fiore to tell him it was all right to close it. He didn’t bother to put on his suit jacket before coming. The cuffs of his white shirt were buttoned and the knot of his tie was neatly in place. As soon as he sat down, Birnbaum said that he wanted to have a new secretary.

“I’m up to here with Janice Rossman,” he complained, moving his right hand to his eyes.

Fiore reacted with a look of surprise. “What’s the trouble?” he asked.

Birnbaum anticipated the question. “First of all, Doug, and probably most important, I can’t get her to work any overtime. I don’t have to tell you what kind of problems that can give me. Five o’clock comes and she’s out the door. Second, she’s away from her desk too much, just disappears somewhere, and isn’t there when I need her. Third, she makes too many typing mistakes from my dictation, and her spelling is atrocious. Like ‘atrocious’ would end in ‘s-h-i-s.’ Let me see, fourth, she forgets to give me messages half the time. And finally, a few of my clients have said she comes off sounding rude and impatient to them when they call!”

Birnbaum made a motion with his hand in Fiore’s direction. “Is that enough?” he asked. He hoped Doug wouldn’t think his question was raised facetiously. “I don’t want to bother taking this through the office manager,” he continued. “Sometimes it gets very political. I’d just like you to tell Helen Barone to get me a good secretary as soon as possible.”

Fiore sat back in his chair and smiled. “I thought the team of Birnbaum and Rossman was going to hit it off,” he said. “I’m disappointed.”

Birnbaum took Fiore’s remark the wrong way and was quick to reply. “My mother always wanted me to marry a Jewish girl, Doug. She said it would kill her if I didn’t. Well, she got her wish ten years ago. She doesn’t give a damn whether my secretary is Jewish and neither do I.” Birnbaum said it without a trace of a smile and got up. “I’m really swamped. I’ve got to get back to work.” He thought the Jewish issue gave him a leg up in the conversation and decided to switch from asking to demanding. “Tell Helen I want someone who knows what she’s doing and can do it after five o’clock.”

Fiore didn’t say anything to correct the misimpression. He didn’t see any reason to embarrass Birnbaum at this point. The change of tone in his voice didn’t bother Doug, and he made no promises. He liked Dick Birnbaum and ordinarily would have acceded to the request on the spot, but he was just given an interesting situation to play with and decided to take his time with it. “I’ll check it out,” he answered.

* * *

Half an hour later Frankie Scardino stuck his head in the door. “Have you got a few minutes?” he asked.

Fiore looked up from a file he was reviewing. “It’s too early for me to handle any of this month’s numbers,” he answered.

Scardino said it was about something else, and took the reply as an invitation to enter. Minutes earlier he had washed his face in the men’s room, leaving it somewhat wet, and now mopped his forehead and chin with his handkerchief as if he were wiping off some traces of sweat. He purposely looked agitated, and had checked the look in the mirror before going to Fiore’s office. Doug invited him to sit down in the chair closest to the desk and signaled with a nod of his head that he was waiting to hear what was on Frankie’s mind.

Scardino said that Kathy Marini, the mail room supervisor, was giving him a hard time. “She’s not doing her job the way I want her to. She has her own ideas about directing the different part-timers we employ there.”

Fiore knew that Marini’s group also included kitchen help who delivered coffee to conference rooms, those who moved furniture around the office and one or two who picked up supplies in the firm’s truck. “The problem is,” Scardino repeated, “she refuses to do things my way, even after I discussed them with her several times.”

“So what do you want?” Fiore asked.

“The bottom line is that I want to let her go before I lose control in those areas.”

Fiore was silent while absorbing the request. He thought Marini was pleasant enough and couldn’t recall any complaints about her from anyone else. She was a clerk in the firm’s library for about three years. Her work there consisted mostly of copying documents, filing the various reporting services that were received each week or assisting one of the attorneys with legal research on the computer. She was promoted to her present job about three months before Scardino came to WC&B as its new comptroller from his position at the Truro Savings Bank. Doug reminded himself that a year had already passed since Scardino joined the firm. He couldn’t imagine what Marini was doing differently to get Frankie all worked up. Even though he knew she could be replaced by any number of women in the firm and wouldn’t be missed after she was gone, he didn’t like the idea of terminating office employees, especially women, who worked well and showed loyalty to the firm. Scardino’s request was starting to bother him.

“If you do that, who’s going to replace her?” he asked.

Scardino took a deep breath before replying. “I’ve thought about it a lot. It’s my feeling we ought to let Janice Rossman try it. She’s been doing a terrific job for Dick Birnbaum, really putting out, and this would be a good reward for her. Besides, it would let me send a message to the other secretaries that there’s room to move up in the firm. I’m sure they’d all like to know that.”

Fiore listened and chuckled to himself. That told him all he had to know about Marini’s performance. He was sure that Rossman was “really putting out” all right, but for Scardino, not Birnbaum. He figured that she probably told Frankie she was going to keep her legs crossed unless he came through for her with a job that paid more money. Doug could sympathize with Scardino’s dilemma but decided to play with him a while longer.

“Even if everything you say about Rossman is true, shouldn’t we be offering it to one of the gals with more seniority?” he asked.

Scardino said he didn’t think that was a good idea. He felt that the women who were at the firm a long time probably had a strong attachment to John Gray, his predecessor, and would have trouble taking orders from him on account of it. Everyone knew that Gray was eased out after twenty-seven years at the firm, replaced within weeks by Scardino.

“Most of the other clericals probably blame me for it, just because I took Gray’s place,” he said. “Rossman’s new blood, and she’s got a lot of ambition. I’m sure she’d have no trouble telling everyone who worked under her to do things the way I want them done.”

Fiore loved every minute of it. He saw himself as the judge presiding over Rossman’s trial. First Birnbaum testified about all her faults. Then Scardino sat in the same chair and told him how great she was. He knew, of course, who was telling the truth. He enjoyed the irony in the fact that letting Frankie guarantee himself a piece of ass for a while longer would make Birnbaum very happy at the same time. Marini was the only loser, and Doug was unhappy about that, but he knew he could ease her pain somewhat.

“Do what you want,” he said, “provided Helen Barone comes up with a good secretary to take Rossman’s place. I don’t want Dick to suffer for one day on account of this.” He could barely get the words out with a straight face. Then he suddenly had a new thought. “Ask Marini if she’d like to switch over and work for Birnbaum at the same pay she’s getting now. If she doesn’t, give her a week’s pay for every year she’s been here and tell her we’ll keep her on our health plan for up to six months.” That should give her two good options, he thought, and plenty of time to settle in somewhere else if she chooses to leave.

Scardino thanked Fiore, assured him he’d take care of both matters and left. As soon as he was out of the office, a big smile crossed his face.

A while later Dana Briggs brought in the mail. She often came around to Fiore’s side of the desk when she put it down, informing him of the contents of some of the envelopes she already opened. Dana scolded him, but only mildly, whenever he let his hand get busy on top of her skirt, reminding him that anyone might suddenly open the door.

The two of them slept together off and on for a couple of years before she got married. She was his secretary during the period they were intimate. When she returned from her honeymoon, she asked to be transferred to another lawyer on a different floor. Doug didn’t quarrel with her decision, but pushed her to take her old job again when he completed his third year as managing partner. He felt he needed someone who could be his eyes and ears while he was out of the office, and he relied on the confidences they shared in the past as the basis for trusting her completely.

“Frankie’s going to give Kathy Marini’s job to Janice and let Kathy go if she turns down a position with Dick Birnbaum,” he told her. He didn’t have to say the last name. Dana had mentioned the apparent liaison between Rossman and Scardino to him just a couple of days after Doug first heard it from Carol Singer.

“I’m not sure you want to know this,” Dana said at the time. “I’ve been keeping this from you, but you may need it later.” He expressed surprise when she informed him of the relationship, and was even more confident of her loyalty to him.

“That son of a bitch,” was all Dana said now. She was angry at Doug for going along with it, but knew better than to ask him why he did. Instead, she hurried through her discourse on the mail and left.

* * *

The large manila envelope that came by registered mail that same morning caught Fiore’s attention first. It was postmarked in Denver, Colorado. The cover letter inside was signed by a Cyril Berman who introduced himself as Doug’s campaign manager.

Berman wrote that initial contacts were being made on Fiore’s behalf throughout Rhode Island. A select group of people was being told only that if there was going to be a contest for governor, a young lawyer whom they’d be able to wholeheartedly support would be announcing his candidacy in March or April. The name wasn’t being released yet to anyone, even unofficially. He was also letting some of them know that the Tarantino family knew the candidate intimately and would do everything it could to get him elected.

The letter from Berman expressed his optimism about the campaign’s ability to raise funds once they were able to go public. He urged Fiore to begin reviewing the position papers that were in the envelope. “Let me make it very clear,” he wrote, “that you are expected to adopt every one of them as your own, whether you are in agreement with them now or not.”

Berman pointed out that Fiore was in an enviable situation. “No opponent can accuse you of waffling on any of these issues because you’ve never had to speak out on them before. If you are personally unhappy with or opposed to one or more of these positions, you will have ample opportunity while in the governor’s office to judiciously amend any stance you have taken. For now, the positions outlined for you are the ones that will win votes.”

Berman’s cover letter was on a plain piece of white stationery that showed no return address or telephone number. At the end, he informed Fiore that he would continue to communicate with him. The last line read, “I am instructing you to take this letter and have it shredded immediately.”

Doug put the letter in a regular envelope and sealed it. He buzzed Dana to come back in and told her to shred it just as it was. He trusted her with everything.

* * *

After returning the other papers to the manila envelope and slipping it inside his briefcase, Fiore looked at the rest of the mail. A small, pink-colored envelope caught his attention, addressed in longhand to “Mr. and Mrs. Douglas Fiore.” He turned it over and saw an address on Orchard Avenue in Providence that he didn’t recognize.

Fiore inserted the tip of his long silver letter opener into the space left by the unsealed corner of the flap and slit the envelope across the top. The card he removed had a picture of “Uncle Sam” on the front, in full patriotic attire, along with a similarly dressed female. Both were pointing a finger at the reader above the message, “We Want You.” It was an invitation for him and Grace to attend a Valentine Day’s party being given by Pat and Brad Hanley at their home.

Fiore sat back and thought about it. He knew Brad Hanley for about five years, ever since the Tarantino family bought a strong minority interest in Ocean State Wire & Cable. Hanley’s instructions were to call Walters, Cassidy & Breen with any legal problems that arose. There wasn’t a great deal of hands-on work for Doug to do for them in that time. But when the wire company’s labor contract came up for negotiation a few years back, Fiore assigned the work to George Ryder, and he recalled now that Ryder was also involved in a few arbitration cases for Ocean State. That contract is probably due to be negotiated again, he thought.

Fiore couldn’t recall the last time he saw Hanley, although he spoke to him on the telephone occasionally when Sandy Tarantino raised a question about something or other at the plant. Sandy preferred to have Doug get the answers for him. It had all been strictly business between Hanley and himself. There was never a lunch or dinner at which the two of them could relax and get to know each other. Thinking about it, Fiore didn’t have an answer as to why he never initiated some personal contact. He decided that there must have been something about Hanley that turned him off.

He did remember meeting Pat Hanley at the plant on one occasion. If his memory was correct, it was the first or second time he went over there after the Tarantinos got involved. She had short brown hair and was quite attractive, but didn’t show any interest in talking to him after they were introduced. Now, out of the blue, he and Grace were invited to party with the Hanleys.

“I wonder what’s up,” he said, the words falling softly from his lips.

* * *

Another unexpected visit that morning came from Bob Gorman. The firm’s onetime managing partner and Fiore communicated only on rare occasions. It usually occurred when Gorman took advantage of the safe environment of a partners’ meeting to raise a question about some new firm policy that disturbed him. He was afraid of Fiore, disgusted by the way, in his opinion, Doug used the power of his position. He wished the firm had never hired him. Gorman also knew he would always come out the loser if Fiore asked for a partners vote on any policy change he was requesting that Gorman opposed.

For his part, Fiore took to mimicking Gorman in conversations with close friends at the office. “What we used to do around here in a case like that …” he would say, in an almost perfect imitation of Gorman’s nasal sound. It was always a sure way to produce loud laughter from those who were there for the performance.

I wish that guy would take early retirement and get out of here, Doug often thought, but he knew that Gorman enjoyed his role as one of the senior partners of the firm. Fiore fully expected him to petition the other partners to be allowed to continue working on a part-time basis after he turned sixty-five. “And probably even after he reaches seventy,” he muttered in disgust.

Sometimes Fiore wished that he could operate like the general manager of a baseball team. How he’d like to trade away a few of his veteran lawyers for younger prospects at some of the other firms in town. Were that ever to happen, he mused, he certainly knew which lawyers he’d move out “for the good of the team” as quickly as he could. As to Gorman in particular, Doug figured he probably still harbored thoughts of being a kingmaker again someday. His greatest achievement, were he able to pull it off, would be finding and supporting someone in the firm who could get the votes to unseat Fiore as managing partner. There was no love lost between the two of them.

Gorman sat down and crossed one long leg over the other. The move revealed a pair of blue argyle socks. He was uncomfortable being alone with Fiore, which meant avoiding any chitchat and getting straight to the point. Doug was grateful for that because the less time he had to spend with Bob Gorman on any matter, the better he felt.

The thing they were all working for, Gorman began, was to make WC&B the best law firm in Rhode Island. “It’s our job to try and maximize income for everyone through hard work,” Gorman continued. “It’s not good for any partner or associate to be sitting around with a lot of time on his hands if there’s work in the office he could be doing.”

Fiore understood where the conversation was heading. Gorman was there to make a case for George Ryder. One dinosaur trying to save another, he thought. He could sympathize with Gorman’s good intentions in trying to help out another partner, but it wasn’t going to work with Ryder. Ryder was hanging himself with his low billables, and Doug wasn’t going to let anyone loosen the noose.

“There are all kinds of reasons why a lawyer can suddenly find himself with not much to do. I know you’re aware of that, Doug. But you’re the managing partner. It’s up to you to step in if you see that happening and try to spread the work around.”

Fiore remained silent. He wanted Gorman to get it over with.

“It happens to all of us from time to time, and right now George is going through it in a bad way.”

If there was another George at the firm besides Ryder, Doug would have enjoyed asking, “George who?”

“He looked kind of discouraged when I saw him,” Gorman said. “When I asked him what was wrong, he told me he wasn’t getting a chance to put in much billable time. George has always been a workhorse, we both know that, but he’s lost some good clients in the past couple of years through no fault of his own. It’s been tough replacing them, especially in this economy.”

Gorman looked directly at Fiore while he spoke. Doug maintained eye contact at first, but then pushed back in his chair and began staring up at the ceiling as Gorman continued speaking.

“What concerns me is that George seems to think Paul Castillo could be giving him some things to handle, but won’t do it. So I took a look at the computer reports for the past six months. Castillo is putting in at least 175 billable hours a month, usually closer to 200. Maybe Paul’s afraid work will slow down for him, too, one of these days, and wants to hold on to everything he’s got, just in case. But that doesn’t help George with the problem he’s facing right now. Whatever it is, you ought to take a look and see what moves you can make to get George productive again. That’s what I always used to do in a case like that, you know.”

Fiore was well aware of Gorman’s animosity toward him. He wanted to say, “Yes, you asshole, I know.”

Gorman was finished with his business and got up. Fiore didn’t leave his chair to show him out of the office, nor did he thank him for bringing the matter to his attention.

“I’ll see what I can find out, Bob,” was all he said as Gorman, after waiting several seconds for a reply, walked toward the door. But Fiore was already very familiar with the facts that were just recited to him. He virtually memorized Ryder’s continually declining production numbers on the weekly computer printouts. And as far as Paul Castillo was concerned, he was only doing what Fiore told him to do when Ryder began losing some clients.

* * *

Yes, it had been a most interesting morning, Fiore thought, as he finished his lunch on the patio of the building’s lobby café and continued to watch the young women moving past in their stylish winter coats and hats. He was satisfied that his decisions that day were good ones, and that to the extent necessary he had exercised the power he possessed as managing partner. Sitting there, he reflected on the events in his life that had brought him to the position he was in.

Fiore was a brilliant student, aided appreciably by an almost photographic memory. His father’s words, (the “life and death” importance of Doug getting accepted to an Ivy League college), motivated him into adding a number of extracurricular activities to his high school record outside of basketball. He joined the debating team, proved himself wonderfully adept at outthinking his adversaries on his feet and was elected its president in his senior year. He ingratiated himself with the clique dominated by football players which held most of the student offices and social committee positions. That got him named to a number of those committees himself, and he received a lieutenant colonel’s leadership rank in one of the school’s military cadet regiments. Fiore joined several clubs whose meetings he scarcely attended, and was brazen enough to pose for yearbook pictures with other clubs in which he never participated. But he claimed membership in those groups on his college applications based on his presence in their photographs. Princeton was the college of his choice, and it accepted him.

In his first year at Princeton, there was something about Sandy Tarantino that Fiore liked right away. Part of it came from the wisecracks Sandy always had ready when he made Doug look foolish on the basketball court by feigning a move in one direction and then having a clear path to the basket for his shot. “How’d you like that one, Mr. Wilt Chamberlain?” he’d say, flashing his smile, or “You looked good on that, Doug, you play a helluva third base.”

He recalled the night, during a pickup game, when an opposing player kneed him as he broke toward the basket. Doug hit the floor in pain and lay there for several minutes before he could be helped to his feet. Tarantino supported him as he limped to the sidelines and sat down on a large gymnastics mat someone dragged over from the far end of the field house.

When play resumed, he watched Sandy take quick revenge for the foul by getting in position to find the offending player’s Adam’s apple with a quick thrust of his arm to the side as they headed down court together. Play stopped again while the gasping victim, on all fours, slowly regained his breath and his composure. Tarantino didn’t offer any apologies. Instead, he sat next to Doug as he waited for the game to resume, sending a message to everyone that what happened was no accident.

“I wanted to beat the shit out of the bastard for what he did to you,” Sandy said. He held both fists tightly against the front of his waist. “But that ought to wise him up. I don’t think he’ll keep that knee move in his fucking repertoire.”

Fiore witnessed the explosiveness of his roommate’s temper on other occasions. He never forgot the party in the Village when a football player from Yale cut in on Tarantino whenever he danced with the pretty blonde from NYU whom he met on an earlier occasion. “I think I’m going to be taking her home tonight, old buddy,” Sandy told him, winking as he did. The two of them were in the bathroom of the apartment, taking bottles of beer out of the cold water in the tub.

Later, as Doug and his dance partner were standing in place rubbing against each other, he saw the Yale man approach Sandy and the blonde with a smile on his face. It was as if someone dared him to cut in again and he was already enjoying the joke. When Tarantino felt the hand on his shoulder and saw who it was, he let go of his date gently, as if again acceding to the request. Suddenly, he surprised the Yaley with a combination of punches, the first to his gut, the next to his face, knocking him hard to the floor. Blood began to flow from the victim’s nose and two of the women near him screamed. Fiore hurried over to Sandy whose fists were cocked again as he waited to see whether his tormentor would get up and fight back. When it was clear that the Yale man had no intention of submitting himself to more punishment, Doug grabbed one of Sandy’s arms and said that it was time to go to another party. No one tried to stop them as they left.

After a while, Fiore was able to understand that what Tarantino always exhibited was a sense of his own physical power. There was a cocksureness about him that was stronger by virtue of his quiet mannerisms than were he any sort of a blowhard. He observed his new friend carefully whenever they spent time together, especially on their long trips back to Providence. When Sandy proposed they room together off-campus in their sophomore year, Doug readily accepted. That arrangement continued into their first year at Columbia Law School when Sandy informed him that they had lucked into a terrific rent-controlled apartment in the West 80s. It was through some friend of his, Sandy said, someone whom Fiore neither met nor heard of before.

Doug matured tremendously during the three years he lived with Sandy at Princeton and the next at Columbia. His roommate’s brilliance gave him something to measure himself against on a daily basis. After a while he realized that he didn’t have to take a back seat to anyone in any of his classes. He moved to the front of the room in lecture halls and delighted in answering questions in class. It wasn’t done to show off his knowledge of the subject matter, but in the hope of stimulating further discussion about something of particular interest to him. Fiore was the leader in study groups at Columbia, while Tarantino shunned the company of others in preparing for class. The other students looked to Doug to resolve issues in dispute between them, and didn’t start their discussion and analysis of the assigned cases until he arrived. He was elected Editor-in-Chief of the Law Review in his senior year and was the class valedictorian at graduation.

Now, sitting in the Spalding National Bank’s lobby, Fiore was proud of himself. He had listened to his father’s many speeches over the years on the subject of power and reached the pinnacle. He was the managing partner and primary rainmaker of the second largest law firm in the State. He ran the firm with “an iron hand in a velvet glove,” able on most occasions to push the Executive Committee to adopt the new policies he favored or to rescind those that impaired his power.

Fiore was king of the hill and intended to maintain that position. He knew there was an undercurrent within the firm that it could be detrimental to one’s job security to get on his bad side. He didn’t say anything to encourage or discourage that feeling. But it was his policy not to engage in any infighting with the WC&B senior partners, concerned about the opposition they could muster if put to the test. The only exception he now made to that policy was George Ryder. He knew that Ryder was the sole Executive Committee member who had voted against Doug’s becoming a partner a year ahead of schedule. It angered him years later, when he challenged Ryder for the managing partner position, that Ryder refused to resign, forcing the partners to a vote instead, despite Fiore’s assurance that a majority was pledged to him. George’s stubbornness caused some of Doug’s supporters to have to reveal their positions in a debate preceding the vote. Fiore was also displeased that Ryder often opposed various proposals put forth by the Executive Committee with Doug’s support, and never seemed to seek his friendship or show him any respect. He worried that Ryder might always be looking for a way to turn the partners against him and elect someone else to run the firm. Fiore comforted himself with the fact that he hadn’t gone after Ryder surreptitiously and put him in the position he was in; rather, he waited patiently for the circumstances to arise in which George’s value to WC&B would diminish significantly for all to see, and that time had come. Bob Gorman didn’t know it yet but his appeal on Ryder’s behalf was dead on arrival.

Soon, Fiore realized, he was going to have the chance to run for Governor of Rhode Island. His name and picture would be in the papers and on TV on a regular basis. He anticipated how good it would feel to be recognized everywhere he went. If he lost in the primary or the general election, he had a built-in excuse. “It’s because I never attempted to gain public office in the past,” he would say. Those who backed him might be disappointed, but they wouldn’t be able to blame him for the defeat. Better yet, he’d be able to meet rich bigwigs all over the State and go after their business when he returned to his law practice. It was just so beautiful, he thought. The Tarantinos were giving him the opportunity to advertise non-stop for Doug Fiore and it wasn’t costing him a dime.

There was no denying that the fickle finger of fate might point his way and get him elected. He’d be governor for at least four years and “Governor” to everyone who addressed him for the rest of his life. It wouldn’t matter if he never ran for anything else again.

Fiore also realized that what Sandy told him was true. As governor, he’d have the best shot to go for the US Senate seat if Jim Hanover stepped down at the end of his term. That likely event would let him graduate from the pages of the Herald and local TV news to coverage by the national magazines and network news broadcasts. Young, handsome, articulate and a proven vote getter, he might well be just the right candidate to balance out a Presidential ticket. It was no secret that coming from Rhode Island deprived him of any leverage because the State had only a handful of electoral votes to offer, but he was convinced that the qualities he possessed would make him a great campaigner for the Party all around the country. Whoa, Doug told himself, slow down, hold it right there. Let me get to Washington first and then I can start thinking the sky’s the limit.

He was glad the Tarantinos chose him as their candidate. Even though he didn’t care whether State-sponsored casino gambling passed or failed, it would not trouble him to speak out against it on their behalf. It was a simple matter for Doug that if people wanted more opportunity to throw their money away at blackjack and craps tables, that was fine. The politicians would be overjoyed at having enough revenue coming in to avoid passing new taxes, but arguing against it would put him on the moral side of the issue. Inasmuch as he had argued many cases before the Court of Appeals, and one at the Supreme Court of the United States, he had no fear of speaking to small or large groups of Rhode Islanders in any environment. No one had to know it was Tarantino money paying for his soapbox, and regardless of where the financing for his campaign came from, Fiore was determined that he would wage a totally clean campaign from beginning to end.

One thought, however, that was troubling him for weeks, wouldn’t go away. It was the reality that he had no voice in whether to go after the governor’s chair or not. Sandy Tarantino began by asking him to do it, as if it were a favor to be granted or refused. But he quickly brushed aside Doug’s initial ambivalence by giving him the kind of alternatives that ruled out any decision not to run for office. He would be their candidate or descend from the top rung of the ladder to the bottom very quickly.

Fiore had no doubt about the fact that Sandy could ruin him at any time. Between the two of them, the power was all in Sandy’s hands. In this situation, the shoe was on the other foot, and Doug didn’t like it. The thought of hearing others snicker, “When Tarantino speaks, Fiore jumps,” made his stomach turn. But he knew there was nothing he could do about it. If he wanted to keep his clients and all the power they afforded him, there was no way he could say “No” to the proposal. Once that was understood, Fiore couldn’t help worrying about what else he might be “asked” to do down the road.