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FIORE’S LAST APPEARANCE ON Tuesday night was in Pascoag, in the northwest corner of the State. It was the last time they would do any personal campaigning in that area, and Cyril Berman scheduled a day full of meetings and speeches. They started in Chepachet at 8:30 that morning, at a businessman’s breakfast, and made stops in Mapleville, Glendale, Slatersville and Bridgeton before winding up the evening in Pascoag at a Chamber of Commerce dinner. Berman told Doug to stand around and shake hands with everyone in the VFW hall who wanted to meet him. He knew they needed every vote they could get.

It was almost 10:30 when Fiore, Berman and Walsh emerged from the building and climbed into Karp’s Lincoln. Karp moved the car out of the parking lot ten minutes earlier and was waiting in front, the heat turned up against the chilly, early November night.

“What a day,” Walsh said from the front seat, not looking at anyone.

“It’s almost over … it’s almost over.” Berman seemed to let the words out with a sigh. “Six more days and that’s it. You feeling okay Doug?”

Fiore sat in a far corner of the back seat, his body slack, his legs stretched out in front of him. He was in a bad mood all day, saying very little while they were on the road, and moving off by himself whenever they stopped to take a break. It was as if he found it necessary to save all his energy for the next speech, the next receiving line. And he performed well in front of every audience, so Berman told the others not to bother him, to speak only if they were spoken to.

“We’re going to lose this fucking thing, aren’t we, Cyril?” Fiore’s eyes stayed closed when he asked the question.

Berman was surprised by Fiore’s use of the expletive. He couldn’t recall hearing him swear once in the time they spent together. “It’s too close to call, Doug. They give you a one point lead in the polls. That’s better than being down a point. Singer would be happy to trade places with you. He’s had the momentum lately but that can change fast. You’ve got to come on strong in the debate Thursday, and I think we’re a shoo-in if you get the Herald ’s endorsement this weekend.”

“It would help more if someone pushed Jenna Richardson off the Newport Bridge, that bitch.” Doug said.

Both Walsh and Karp laughed out loud in the front seat.

“Where the hell did she get that stuff about the Tarantinos putting up a lot of money? Who’s the ‘source’ she’s talking about? I thought we were the only ones who knew what was happening.” Fiore’s frustration was evident.

Karp felt some tightening in his chest. He thought Richardson did a good job disguising the basis for her story, but he didn’t trust himself to get into a conversation about it. He was relieved to hear Berman say that anyone studying the lists of contributors carefully could speculate that some individuals were probably being helped to give to the campaign by others.

“The information could have come from any number of people,” Berman added. “That includes personal friends of the Tarantinos who were hit up for money and knew exactly how it was being spent.” He didn’t suspect for a moment that Richardson was enlightened by either Karp or Walsh. “There are always people around who talk too much to a reporter without realizing what they’re saying,” Berman told them. “Not everyone out there with a Fiore sign on their lawn has smarts, Doug. And the only way you can try to get a reporter to name a source is to sue them if you can show damages. Forget about it.”

They rode along in silence for a while. Fiore loosened his tie and then took a granola bar out of his briefcase. When he finished eating, he turned to Berman. “I think we’ve got to find something negative to say about Singer. The Herald ’s not going to throw its support to me after those columns by Richardson. It doesn’t figure. They’d be cutting her heart out if they did. We’ve got to come up with something that hurts Singer really bad, even if we have to fudge the facts. Otherwise, we’re going to lose this thing. You know I’m right, Cyril.”

“I don’t think we can do that,” Berman replied quickly. “It’s been a clean campaign on both sides. All the papers have said that you and Singer deserve a lot of credit for that. If you suddenly go negative, especially with stuff that turns out to be only half true, there could be a backlash in your direction. The media will pick up on it right away, and they’ll be all over us in the press and on TV. I told you I’ve checked Singer out totally. He’s a good family man, and he doesn’t drink or chase other women. When he was lieutenant governor, he never asked for a kickback on anything or took one if it was offered. You ask anyone at the Statehouse and they’ll tell you he didn’t put five cents in his pocket that didn’t belong to him. Believe me, Doug, he’s squeaky clean. You’re going to have to beat him on the issues, and you can do it.”

Fiore closed his eyes again. “You may be right, but it was easy to go with a clean campaign while we were ahead. There was no pressure then to go after Singer with anything we could dig up, but there is now. I haven’t gone through a half year of this shit to lose. I’ll do whatever it takes to beat him, and if we can come up with something sensational, that’s what everyone will be talking about. No one will be shedding tears about the end of a clean campaign. Just go to work and get something on that bastard fast while there’s still time to do some damage. If we get the facts wrong, we can always apologize after the election.”

Walsh and Karp looked at each other in the front seat. Both were aware of the sudden metamorphosis in Fiore’s character as evidenced by his foul language and his declared willingness to do anything to win the election, even if it involved lying about his opponent. Their faces showed their concern with what was happening. Berman turned away from Fiore and was looking out the car window as it sped toward Providence. He knew there was nothing negative he could come up with about Singer, and even if he could, it would have to be the truth. He didn’t believe in doing anything it took to win.