Conspiracy

64

Originally, Jimmy Fingers thought of it the way he thought of any grand election strategy: a story for the voters. It had an arc and a hero. It also had a set end point, which they’d reached.

But like all good campaign strategies, this one had been overtaken by events. It had succeeded incredibly. Yet there were also signs of problems. Not only were Secret Service people everywhere; now there were FBI agents and U.S. marshals and for all he knew CIA officers combing through the files and shaking the trees for suspects. With that many people involved, someone was bound to stumble onto something that would upset the overall campaign. They might begin focusing on the wrong things. He could easily lose control of the narrative.

“Another Scotch?” asked the bartender, pointing at Jimmy’s glass.

There was a shout and applause from the other room, where several hundred campaign workers had gathered to watch television coverage of the primary results. Senator McSweeney, upstairs taking a shower, would be down in an hour to declare an unpre ce dented victory in the Super Tuesday polls. With the exception of Arkansas, where he’d taken a close second to the state’s favorite-son candidate, McSweeney had swept.

It was all due to the assassination attempt. Not so much because it had made McSweeney seem sympathetic as well as important, but because it had given people a chance to listen to his message. So maybe the senator had been right after all — maybe sticking with the issue spots at a time when there was plenty of “soft” news about his personality was the right thing to do.

He’d mention that, Jimmy thought, glancing up at the television screen to see that the media had just put Florida in the McSweeney column. Jimmy Fingers lifted his Scotch in a toast to the state and its electoral votes.

Jimmy Fingers’ phone buzzed. He pulled it from his pocket, knowing it was McSweeney.

“So?” asked the senator. “What do you say?”

“Have a quick drink and come on down,” said Jimmy Fingers. “I’d invite you to join me at the bar, but I’m not sure you’d make it through the crowd.”

“I’m coming down right now,” said McSweeney. “Meet me backstage.”

“You got it.” Jimmy Fingers snapped the phone closed and downed his drink before getting off the stool.

Yes, the story definitely needed a new direction, just to keep it going.