The next day Blackstone took a cab over to the Hill. He passed through security in the Capitol Building, and then inside, on the lower level, met a staffer from Senator Collings’s office who had been given the word from Julia’s contact. The staffer had been given the impression that Blackstone was a lobbyist for an agricultural association.
He greeted Blackstone warmly and led him to the underground tram that ran to just below the Senate chambers. As they whizzed through the tunnel connecting the two houses of Congress and the central Capitol building, the staffer asked a few polite questions about agriculture. Blackstone smiled a lot, but pretended not to hear most of his questions over the noise of the speeding tram car.
When they came to a halt, the two of them climbed out, along with a few other senators and congressional aides who had been riding with them. Then Blackstone and the staffer headed up the marble stairs.
At the top of the stairway there was a corridor jammed with middle-aged men in dark suits, pressed white shirts, and moderately pricey silk ties. Most of them had aides standing dutifully by.
The staffer walked Blackstone through the crowd and approached a large, pear-shaped man in his early sixties wearing a dark blue suit. He had a shock of white hair that was carefully combed and moussed. Next to him was a young aide with a folder.
“Senator Collings,” the staffer began, “this is—”
“Blackstone—J.D.—so very glad to meet you,” Blackstone said warmly and shook his hand.
Senator Collings smiled broadly, but as he did, Blackstone could see something in his eyes that said that he had some vague recognition of the name. And it wasn’t good. But that didn’t stop Collings from keeping the smile firmly fixed on his face as they began talking.
“Farm bill, important to the USA,” Blackstone began.
“Yes, of course,” Collings replied. “We’ll get it passed as soon as we get rid of this ‘horse rider’ attached to it…no pun intended.”
“None taken,” Blackstone said wryly. “Now, I am a horse lover myself.”
“And you are with?” Collings’s aide chirped out, happy to do the dirty work for his boss by asking the uncomfortable but all too necessary initial questions about constituency and power and lobby connections.
“Oh, I didn’t say, did I?” Blackstone responded with a smile. “Now, Senator, I was saying that, myself, I am a horse lover.”
“I am not opposed to laws protecting animals from cruelty or abuse,” Collings said in a rich baritone voice. “I am real proud of my record on animal experimentation. But this horse and rodeo protection bill simply doesn’t belong on this farm legislation. It needs to be voted on as a stand-alone bill.”
“And of course, Arkansas, your home state, has its share of rodeos too,” Blackstone added. “Now as for me, I own a six-year-old Arabian. Black as night and as strong a horse as I’ve ever seen. Great endurance-racing animal. You, Senator—I know you are a fan of quarterhorses and thoroughbreds. And you own several of each, I understand.”
“Yes. Well,” the Senator said looking around and edging himself away. “I’ve enjoyed this chat with y’all, but we’ve got a vote coming up.”
But Blackstone walked right behind him and kept talking.
“Now if your best thoroughbred and my Arabian were to face off in a race, I’m sure on the short course you’d win hands down. But on the long stretch, a couple miles or more, my Arabian would leave your horse panting and foaming at the mouth. You see, Senator, I’m in this for the long haul—the long race.”
Then Blackstone moved up right next to Senator Collings and lowered his voice.
“I want to know why you are meddling in the Smithsonian murder case, Senator. And why you are making calls to the AUSA who is prosecuting that case, pressuring him to make things harder for me to defend my client. And I intend to ride those questions to the very end until I get some answers.”
“I don’t know who you think you are,” Collings snapped back. Then the lights came on.
“Of course, Blackstone,” the Senator said. He moved away from his aide and took Blackstone by the arm until the two of them were up against a wall, alone, below an oil painting.
“Now, y’all listen up,” Collings said with a deep Southern growl, all the senatorial niceties evaporating. “With this little stunt today, you talking to me like you did here, I could have you before a lawyer ethics panel in no time flat. Intimidation of a witness. Obstruction of justice. I could have your law license in my pocket, boy. Or something even worse. You need to know that.”
“You didn’t answer my question, Senator,” Blackstone replied calmly. “On the other hand, maybe you did. Intimidation of a witness—does that mean that you are a potential witness in the Smithsonian case?”
“Just remember what I just told you,” Collings snapped and took a step back from the lawyer.
Blackstone stepped away from the wall and noticed the large oil painting over their heads, one of General George Washington yielding up his sword as he retired from command of the Continental Army after the victory over the British Empire.
“Interesting thing about Mr. Washington,” Blackstone said to Collings. “His men wanted to make him a king. But he refused. Some in the first Congress wanted to give him the right to run for president without limitation. But he stopped at two terms.”
Then Blackstone added, in an even louder voice.
“There is something to be said about limiting the power of one man—wouldn’t you agree, Senator?”
But Collings kept walking until he met up with his aide again and then joined the crush of senators who were making their way into the chambers.