The Plan

Chapter 29.

"THESE TRACKING POLLS ARE UNBELIEVABLE," A. J. WAS saying. He was in Haze's hotel room in the Savoy. A. J. wanted Haze to stay with the Caulfields, but Haze wa s a damant, and in the long run, A. J. figured, it wasn't wort h t he effort. So they'd moved him into a suite on the sevent h f loor.

It was ten A. M., the morning of the Iowa Caucus. The campaign staff was gathered in Haze's room… Besides Haze, Carol Wakano, the Rouchards, Ven and Van, Malcolm and Susan Winter were scattered around the suite in blue jeans and T-shirts, while A. J. moved back and forth in front of the window that framed a gray Iowa morning.

"Over all, we're tracking at twenty-one percent. We've knocked Skatina down to forty. He's not even gonna get a majority if this is accurate. The rest of these clucks are out of it. Gulliford is at ten, Savage at seven, Dehaviland… Get this-he's tracking at four percent after spending a whole two months kissing blue-ribbon pigs and getting tractor-seat hemorrhoids. Undecideds are down to twelve percent and leaning our way."

"How are the internals?" Malcolm asked.

"We've got a net plus of nine percentage points. On values, we're plus seven. Economy, we're plus fifteen-and we haven't said one thing about how to fix it, change it, or deal with it. Fucking amazing." A. J. was bouncing around the room. "I'm telling you, the message is a winner, a major pony. We're gonna come in second tonight, just like we planned. Then we're gonna get on that commuter train and ride down to New York and we're gonna fix what ails the Teamsters and the Truckers Association."

"How 'm I gonna do that?" Haze asked. "I don't even know what those guys are arguing about."

"I got it worked out, babe. Don't I always have it worked out?" He moved over and patted Haze on the cheek like an adoring parent.

Haze slapped his hand away. "Cut the shit, A. J. I need to talk to you."

"Okay, boys and girls, everybody go get brunch."

They all trooped out except Susan Winter, who was lounging in short-shorts and a halter top on the chair next to Haze. She made no move to leave, and Haze didn't shoo her out as the others left. Once they were gone, Haze got to his feet.

"How 'm I gonna solve the Teamsters strike? I walk in there with those guys, with the whole world watching. I look like a fool if I don't pull it off."

"Would you mind leaving us alone, Susan?" A. J. said to the twenty-five-year-old body woman, who was flexing her naked thighs seductively as she wiggled her toes in white, beaded moccasins.

"She can stay."

"I'm not gonna discuss this unless we're alone." "You must of forgot, I'm the candidate for President of the United States."

"Shit," A. J. said, spit-spraying across the room. Some of it landed on Susan Winter's bare legs and she wiped it off with a grimace. "You actually think this is about you?"

"Of course it's about me. It's not your face, not your reputation that they're talking about."

"But they're my ideas, Haze. I'm the guy who comes up with the bullshit."

The argument arose so fast, it startled both of them.

"You wanna know how you're gonna solve the Teamster strike? I'll tell you, but get her out of here!"

The tension in the room multiplied again before Haze finally moved to the door and opened it. "Give us a minute, Sue."

She got up and moved out, taking her time, showing how she felt about it. When the door closed, Haze spun on A. J.

"I've had it with this shit! I won't be treated like some dumb asshole. I don't need you to tell me what I think."

"Hey Haze, if I wasn't here, you'd be selling twenty-year life policies for Aetna, and if you don't think I'm right, give me the gate and see how far this campaign goes"

"You're pissed off because I took Susan and you wanted her."

"No, I'm pissed off because every good idea, every piece of worthwhile strategy that ever happened for you came outta my head. And now we're sitting here, ready to make the biggest play of our lives, and you start sounding like you're actually responsible. I put Mickey Alo in the picture. I set up the debate. I came up with the defining event. Me! Not you! Me! And if you start to read the newspaper and think this is about you, then you're the stupidest son of a bitch on the planet!"

They glowered at each other across a threadbare carpet. Finally, Haze took a deep breath.

"How does this Teamster thing work?"

"I don't know. Mickey is working it out. He told me it's a done deal; all you gotta do is go down there, walk in that room with those two guys, spend an hour, walk out and announce that you made it happen. You brought management and labor together. You made America work again."

"I wanna know the terms of the agreement first."

"You wanna ratify the fucking contract?" A. J. was stunned. "All you know about trucks is they're hard to get around on the turnpike."

"Trucking wages and mileage fees affect the cost of goods. It's an expense that's passed on to the consumers. It directly affects the economic viability of our products in the world marketplace."

"Haze, stay out of it. You don't know shit about it. Let Mickey do the thinking. All you gotta do is take the credit."

Haze reached out and poked A. J. in the chest.

"Don't you ever humiliate me in front of my staff again.

Don't ever treat me like that again." 'or…?"

"Or you're gone. I'll replace you."

"And who will do your thinking for you?"

"I will."

"I've known you since you thought it was funny to blow up Coke cans with firecrackers. Lemme tell you something, bubba… You'd have trouble thinking your way out of a parked taxi. If it wasn't for me, you'd be nothing. If you wanna throw me out of the campaign just so that piece of ass outside thinks you're hot shit, then go ahead, but you won't be going to the White House."

A. J. turned and walked out of the room.

The Iowa Caucus results came in slowly that night because of a problem with the counting machines, but it was clear by nine o'clock that Haze Richards had done extremely well… and he'd done so at the expense of the Democratic front-runner, Leo Skatina. The headline in the next morning's Register-Guard was: RICHARDS ON THE MOVE