Conspiracy

127

Jimmy Fingers entered the suite at his usual gallop, and was nearly flattened by one of the Secret Service agents.

“Careful there, big guy,” Jimmy Fingers told the agent, barely squeezing out of the way.

“You’re back,” said Senator McSweeney, appearing behind the bodyguard. “And before eight.”

“Told you, Senator. Early bird gets the worm.”

“How’s the uncle?”

“Great-aunt. Not so great. I’m the closest relative,” added Jimmy Fingers.

“I hope she’s loaded.”

“Wouldn’t that be great?” Jimmy Fingers could tell that something was bothering McSweeney, but there were too many people around to ask what it was. He fell in beside the senator as he and his entourage made their way back to the elevator.

“Secret Service people have a new theory about the assassin,” said McSweeney. “They’ve gotten the NSA involved as well.”

“Vietnam?”

“Yes, but not what you expect. It’s a whacked-out theory.”

“How whacked-out?” Jimmy Fingers tried to smile, but he knew his effort fell far short.

“Has to do with a Marine that worked for me and now supposedly wants revenge. Pretty whacked-out.” Relief ran through Jimmy Fingers’ body like the rush from a descending roller coaster.

“It would have to be whacked-out,” said Jimmy Fingers.

“Assassins aren’t sane people. Smart, but not sane.”

“Good point,” said McSweeney, stepping into the elevator.