Afternoon
Ed Dillon was nervous finally meeting the professional fixer he’d hired, sight unseen. All of his careful, sub rosa checking had revealed a capable and efficient operative, at unbelievably high cost. And he could only be contacted through a neutral connection. Plus, Dillon only knew one name: Kaser.
Kaser’s reputation was one of thorough ruthlessness. That fit right in with what Dillon needed to propel Nancy into the State Senate. But Dillon was not at all certain how to handle this pro. Kaser’s credentials—ex-government something-or-other—were murky and vague. But they obviously described a man of focused intensity—he’d root out any problems and dispose of them. One confidential reference even used the word “obsessed.” Though Dillon was not completely clear what that meant, it felt comforting: given Nancy’s relative weakness in the polls, the campaign needed some obsession. But it was also a bit chilling. Once you turn loose a ravenous hunter, how do you call him back? Or dare he even try?
Obviously, they couldn’t meet at Durocher’s campaign headquarters, so Dillon had suggested the Nashvillage Hotel. No, said Kaser, people there were looking for faces. They would meet at the immense Opryland complex, northeast of downtown Nashville.
To call Opryland a hotel was like calling DisneyWorld a county fair. In addition to hundreds of rooms and suites, the vast facility handled large conventions, held uncountable restaurants and shops... plus auditoriums and displays. It even featured walking paths, a small jungle, and an artificial river with its own passenger boat. The layout was so enormous, they provided maps which identified the zones... to keep customers from getting lost.
Kaser had selected the Garden Conservatory and walking path. They met at a bench in a clearing, where anyone approaching from either direction could be easily seen.
Dillon extended a slightly sweaty hand, but Kaser just nodded and sat on one end of the bench. Dillon took the other.
No preliminaries. “You’re Dillon. I looked you up.” Kaser was shorter than Dillon had imagined—several inches under six feet. But his solid build suggested muscle and steely hardness. His pale blue eyes seemed perceptive and cold. Kaser’s hands were medium-sized, but his fingers looked like thick sausages. He extended a small envelope. “Invoice for September. Rate went up.”
Dillon knew it would be cash again and no denomination higher than fifty. Transporting that much cash was always a problem, because Dillon’s face was quite recognizable in Nashville since Nancy’s campaign had moved into high gear. This next exchange would be a neutral drop out in the boondocks somewhere, maybe an exit on the Interstate, east of the city. Dillon didn’t open the envelope, but he knew it would be billed as professional services by J.M. Enterprises. Of course, Dillon wouldn’t keep the invoice anyway—this contract didn’t exist officially. Neither did the barrels of cash funneled into HQ by Nancy’s wealthy friends.
“Payment’s due tomorrow. I have a quick trip out of town after that.”
“Why was last month higher?”
“End of July and all of August was preliminary research. Then your case developed some unexpected turns.” Kaser rubbed one thumbnail on the large knuckle of the other thumb.
Dillon didn’t even ask. He knew from their previous phone conversation that Kaser would say “the less you know, the better.”
“Any other questions?” Kaser kept an eye on each direction, but there’d been no other traffic on the paved walking trail.
Actually, Dillon had numerous questions, but he didn’t feel bold enough to ask any. “Um, do you understand what needs to be done? I mean, our overall goals.”
Kaser nodded and lowered his voice. “Your candidate will be clean as a new whistle.”
“And if you find a story that some cousin kicked a dog?’
“Bury the dog... or the cousin. Or both.”
“Nancy just said to bury the story.” Dillon cleared his throat.
“That hardly ever works. If Durocher’s serious about scrubbing the family slate, she needs to realize this could get dirty... to make it clean.”
“How dirty?”
A teenager with piercings and orange hair trotted past. Kaser watched discreetly but didn’t speak until that boy was completely around the bend. “You don’t want to know.”
“But I need to know what we’re launching.”
Kaser looked like he was explaining to a simpleton. “Like I told you before, I don’t even exist. Strictly cash. I hire who I need—you never see them. We scrub the senator from top to bottom—friends, family, as far back as possible.” Kaser pointed to Durocher’s campaign pin on Dillon’s lapel. It showed her looking earnest. They’d tried to get a good shot of Nancy smiling, but on her it was just a grimace. “I can’t control her big mouth though.”
“I can’t either. Nancy Vernon Durocher says what’s on her mind. But that’s my job to try. You fix everything else.” Dillon rephrased it in his mind once, and then added. “Squeaky clean as far back as Fitch’s guys would go.”
“The rumble I pick up is that Fitch isn’t even looking. Playing some sort of game with the media. Hoping to get tagged as Gentleman Joe or something.”
“You act like you don’t believe it.”
Kaser shook his head.
“To my knowledge, all Fitch has is some celebrity Nashville PR firm with a private detective agency. I know a couple of them. All above board.”
“They’ll miss stuff.” Kaser smiled with thin lips. “I don’t know Fitch, but I know politicians. He’s also got somebody like me. A cleaner... a fixer.”
“Well, you don’t need to worry about Fitch, regardless. I’ve got somebody else working up some dirt on him.”
“As I expected.”
Dillon felt slightly embarrassed. “But anyhow, Nancy is holding it back until and unless she needs it—closer to the election.”
“You make her sound like a politician with a conscience.”
“Only when public reaction calls for it.” Dillon heard distant voices.
Kaser listened carefully. They weren’t on the same trail. “You told me before that she wants Fitch on a platter.”
“Well, not a direct quote, but close enough. Sometimes her ambition makes her show too many cards.”
Kaser paused to consider that assessment. “You’ve got a reputation, too.”
Dillon was faintly surprised that his hired gun would know much about him.
“You’re the guy who runs alongside Durocher, holding her brain and trying to keep it reasonably close to her body. Also the one behind-the-scenes who does her dirty work... with no reservations.”
Dillon was partly troubled to hear it phrased so bluntly... yet, also secretly pleased at that image. “And that didn’t bother you?”
“It’s similar enough to my own playbook. Plus, I need to know who I’m working with.”
“I take it you’ve made a lot of progress.” Dillon wondered if that would generate any detail.
Kaser nodded. “People are almost always willing to talk. You just have to become who they want to talk to.”
“How far back have you already gone with the Durocher and Vernon family?”
“All the way back to Old Ironsides.” His thin smile didn’t reveal how much exaggeration was involved. “Far enough to know we have some closets to clean out. You don’t want details.”
“Okay.” Dillon extended his hand, palm vertical. “I understand. I just want to know that you’re doing the cleaning.”
Kaser looked smug.
Dillon truly did want details... and knew Kaser fully realized how much Dillon wanted to know. “Well, I do need the broad strokes. Nancy will ask. How far back are the problems?”
“Last two generations, it’s mostly white collar dirt—contract lawsuits and a few tax problems.” He rolled his eyes. “Pretty easy to counter, rationalize, or disappear. But the generations before that had some pretty heavy stuff going on.”
“How heavy?”
Kaser leaned forward and lowered his voice again. “I’m betting you’ve already heard the rumors about a murder.”
Dillon nodded and gulped. “Couldn’t tell if it was true.”
“But you needed somebody else to rattle the cages enough to get past the haze of rumor and into flesh and blood facts.”
“Don’t tell me.” Dillon’s head recoiled slightly. “Just fix it.”
“You do understand that it costs more to fix some things... than others. The next bill will be at least double the one you haven’t opened yet.” He pointed to Dillon’s clammy hands.
Dillon nodded slowly. He’d expected graduated shake-downs for more money. Fortunately, the Durocher for Senate campaign had a vast cache of under-the-table cash. “I understand.”
“Good. Then you’ll comprehend that when you find something extremely ugly, there’s always a relative or two who knows about it. At least the broad strokes. Sometimes they clam up and sometimes they talk. Some of the talkers can be shut up with money and some with threats. But some can’t be shut up.”
Dillon held up his hand again. “You fix the problems. If it takes a little extra incentive, then I have access to more cash. But don’t get the idea that this cleaning fund is unlimited.”
“Oh, I understand completely. You want your boss elected.” Kaser’s left thumbnail scratched against the largest knuckle of the other thumb. “I’m the best fixer that never existed... but top quality cleaning demands highest compensation. Absolute highest.”