The Plan

Chapter 9.

HAZE RICHARDS DIDN'T KNOW WHAT TO WEAR TO THE meeting. He was standing in his closet looking at the array of custom-made suits and finally chose a charcoal-gray that looked great with a dark maroon silk tie.

After dressing, Haze stood in front of a three-way mirror and patted his rock-hard stomach. At fifty-five, he was still square-jawed and broad-shouldered, with dimples in each cheek… pale blue eyes that contact lenses enhanced to the color of tropical water. He loved the way he looked.

He flashed his capped teeth and wondered if A. J. really had something. He'd soon see for himself.

He met A. J. Teagarden in the entry foyer of the governor's mansion. They moved past the velvet ropes that separated the public area from the First Family's living quarters.

Despite the length and duration of their friendship, he and A. J. had very little in common, except for a love of the political system. They'd grown up living next door to each other. Haze had been the star athlete, lettering in football, basketball, and track. Albert J. Teagarden was president of the debating society, and Haze's campaign manager when he ran for class president. A. J. came u p w ith the strategy and Haze made the speeches, and they always won. But Haze never understood how A. J. could work so tirelessly for Haze's goals.

As they walked out of the governor's mansion, Haze thought, as usual, that A. J. looked as if he'd slept in his clothes, but Teagarden was brilliant. They moved into the parking lot and got into a white Chevy, a state plainclothes car with "G" plates. A. J. drove the car erratically, never watching the road, looking over at Haze as he talked.

"Jesus, watch where you're going. We're gonna end up as hood ornaments on a bus," Haze exclaimed.

"Mickey Alo is dangerous. He looks like the Pillsbury dough boy but scary as shit. Just listen to him. He's got an agenda. We don't wanna run him off. I'm not sure this is a done deal, he could be looking at other guys…"

"Lame ask, you something."

"Shoot."

The Iowa Caucus is in a month…"

"Twenty days."

"How the hell're we gonna go in there and make a showing? Nobody knows who I am. I've got no farm policy, no strategy, no message…"

"I can handle it. Believe me, I know what to tell those Jo-Bobs. I've been polling Iowa half my life. I worked two national campaigns in that state while you were still a DA."

"He's gonna want things…"

"Everybody wants something," A. J. said, flatly.

They pulled up at the deserted gas station ten miles out of town that Mickey had picked for the meeting. Al turned off the engine.

"What're we doing here?"

"You haven't dealt with these SpaghettiOs. They thrive on bullshit. For all I know, they're gonna swoop in here in a hot-air balloon wearing Porky Pig masks."

They showed up in a rented motor home, a big, blue and white thirty-seven-foot Winnebago with New York Tony driving.

"See," A. J. said. "We're in a gangster movie."

They got out of the car and New York Tony opened the RV door to admit A. J. and Haze Richards. As soon as they were inside, New York Tony had the rig moving again. Mickey Alo was seated in the small dining booth and didn't bother to get up. Teagarden made the introductions.

"Haze, this is Mickey Alo." Haze shook his hand but didn't sit; instead, he held on to the cabinetry as the vehicle moved along.

"This is a pleasure," Haze said, feeling pretty good already. Mickey Alo was ugly. He knew it was foolish, but he'd learned that his looks gave him a psychological advantage over unattractive men.

"I hope you're enjoying the great state of Rhode Island," he said, turning up the hundred-kilowatt smile. "Sit down and stop grinning at me," Mickey said to the governor of Rhode Island. "I'm not a fucking broad." "I beg your pardon?"

"I don't want an autograph. Okay?"

"Okay," Haze said, feeling diminished as he sat down.

"Not there. Sit over there." Mickey pointed to a chair across from him. Haze moved to it and sat. A. J. knew there wasn't much he could do to steer events; he just had to pray and let the chips fall.

"I run an organized-crime family… My father is the boss of the New Jersey mobs. I'm his consigliere. We deal in things that are deemed to be illegal by the government. Me an' some friends in several states have decided to become politically proactive and see if we can change some of the shit that's buggin' us."

"Such as…?"

"Such as we want to overturn the RICO Act."

"That's a congressional act. It's not easy to rewrite legislation like that You'd need two thirds of the House and Senate."

"We want the Supreme Court to overturn it."

"How do you figure that's going to happen?"

"If we elect you President, we expect to help you with Supreme Court nominations. I have an actuarial table on the sitting court that says just on age probabilities alone, four members should retire or be in the ground in the next year or two. I put you in the Oval Office, I want you to pick the guys I want."

"You can't control the confirmation process."

"We'll worry about that when the time comes. The justices I select will have good legal backgrounds. They'll be middle-of-the-road… easy to confirm. They just won't like the RICO Act"

"Once they're in, how you gonna guarantee they'll vote the way you want?"

`They're gonna vote the way I say because, if they don't, I'm gonna kill everything they give a shit about, right down to their pets and goldfish."

There was a long silence. A. J. cleared his throat. "What else?" Haze said, his voice a whisper.

"You neuter the Justice Department Slow them down, replace the attorney general with somebody who isn't gonna be so contentious."

Haze could feel twinges of fear. A. J. had been right. It's the singer, not the song…

"Also, I want a new head of the FBI."

"Anything else?" Haze wanted to loosen his tie. He was sweating. For some strange reason, he thought he felt heat coming off Mickey.

"That's it. Everything else, you do exactly the way you want. Foreign policy? I could give a shit. Urban renewal…? Bomb the fucks into the Stone Age or give them a block party. I don't care. Everything else is yours, but you fuck with me on what I want, I swear I'll take out your heart with a butter knife."

Haze wondered if the thermostat in the motor home was set too high.

"Here's the deal… I finance you for President of the United States, I control media coverage to maximize your success. I buy you the office with cash from my illegal operations. I don't care what it costs… My busines s m akes billions a year, but I can't spend it in prison. You do these few things I want. Simple, clean, no chance of misunderstanding. That's the deal."

"I need some time to think it over."

"You know right now whether this works for you or it doesn't. You tell me in thirty seconds or the offer is off the table."

A. J. Teagarden had to admire the way Mickey was handling it. Mickey had proven to Haze that he wasn't a man to fuck around with, that he was a man who would push the limits of the game. They were already onto a new playing field, treacherous but so full of promise that it was startling it hadn't happened before.

"Deal," Haze said, his voice shaky.

"We'll be in touch. A. J. will be the conduit for our communication."

When they pulled back into the empty filling station, not more than ten minutes had elapsed.

Haze and A. J. got into their plain wrapper and drove back to town. They didn't speak. It was best to leave everything unsaid. They had just witnessed each other's corruption.

In the motor home, New York Tony closed the door.

"Looks like we got a candidate," Mickey said. Then, almost as an afterthought, he opened the cabinet behind the table, unplugged the video camera and removed the tape that had recorded the entire negotiation.