A Safe House

25

Senator Wallace Slade, Republican of Texas, leaned into the wind and tugged on the brim of his Stetson. A tumbleweed sped by, followed by a cloud of dust. Slade reined in his horse, held a palm up to his hat brim, and stared into the distance. Another puff of dust blew by, and cattle lowed off camera.

“Cut!” someone yelled. “Good for me. Good for you, Senator?”

“Shit, yes,” the senator grumbled.

“Okay, strike it. We’re wrapped on this location. Let’s move it onto the soundstage!”

Someone shut off the wind machine. Someone else dragged a platform up to the horse, so the rider could dismount without pulling a muscle, which he did, and the horse was led away, following a large carrot held in front of him.

“We’ll be ready for you first thing tomorrow,” the director of the campaign commercial said to Slade. “Eleven am.”

A script girl materialized, clutching a glass of a single-malt Scotch, which Slade relieved her of, then he got into the rear seat of the Bentley and was driven off to his borrowed bungalow to change into his tux for dinner. The Scotch had evaporated by the time he got to the front door.

A young man waited for him in the sitting room, clutching a half dozen storyboards. “You want to see the updates for today, sir?” he asked.

“Get me another Scotch,” Slade said, tossing him the heavy whisky glass. He got out of his clothes, sank into an easy chair, and accepted the drink while still in his underwear. The phone rang. “What’s happening?” he asked.

“How are you, Senator?”

“I’ve just driven a herd of cattle from Plainview to Wichita. How would you feel?”

“Bushed, I guess.”

Slade pulled on the Scotch. “What’s happening? Don’t make me ask you again.”

“Not a whole lot. I put half a dozen armor-piercing rounds through Barrington’s front window. I had Jenna zeroed in, but the glass was more than I figured on. Then we came under fire from half a dozen guns and had to beat it out of there and back to Camden. There was three grands’ damage to the boat we, ah, borrowed. I had to pay cash, so I’ll send you the bill.”

“Well, shit.”

“And on top of that, I took a bullet, had to go to the hospital. Don’t worry, I used another name and address.”

“A bullet, where? In the ass?”

“Sort of. They sutured the wound, but I’m not going to be able to walk right for a few days. They’ve got me on crutches.”

“Can you find me another shooter by tomorrow?”

“That would be tough, sir, but I’ll be able to go in a couple of days. Right now, they’re ready for us. We need the element of surprise in our favor. So I suggest we let it cool down before we take another shot. Anyway, she’s already testified, right? She can’t hurt us no more.”

“She can hurt us as long as she can walk around and talk. I’m depending on you to see that she can’t do either one. Now you get this done in quick time, or I’m going to put somebody on your ass.” Slade slammed down the phone and drained his glass.

A woman came out of the bedroom. “Your tux is on the bed, Senator. And Costumes sent over the full kit — shirt, shoes, vest, and bow tie. Do you want me to stick around and tie it for you?”

“I’ll manage,” Slade said. “Get out. And tell that boy to bring me another Scotch.”

“Yes, sir.”

She left by the front door, and the boy was waiting with a bottle of Scotch. “He wants another,” she said. “Have you got any cyanide handy? He could use a little of that for a chaser.”

The boy snickered. “I wish,” he said.