The Widening Gyre Read online

  During this, Fraser circulated, keeping liaison with the local fuzz. Cambell and I tried to stay roughly on either side of Alexander. The only danger to him that I could spot were the pastries. I tried one and they tasted like something you'd swallow to avoid torture.

  A smallish woman with short blond hair asked me if I was with Congressman Alexander. She wore a sensible gray suit and a corsage.

  "Yes," I said.

  "Well," she said, "we're all behind him up here. He's the first politician in this state to make sense since I've been voting."

  "This is the only state that voted for George McGovern in 1972," I said. "You think a conservative can get elected in Massachusetts?"

  "Absolutely. Massachusetts was just a little slower to come to its senses. But it has. Liberalism is bankrupt."

  I was looking at her corsage. You don't see a corsage all that often, especially during the day. It was an orchid.

  "Don't you love my corsage? Donald, my husband, gave it to me last night when he knew I was going to meet the congressman. I kept it in the refrigerator all night."

  I smiled. "It's certainly attractive," I said.

  We left the Haverhill Republican Women's Club in time to get to the Raytheon plant in Andover for the shift change. Alexander stood at the gate and shook as many hands as he could as the workers came out heading for the parking lot. More than half the workers brushed by Meade and Ronni and ignored the outstretched hands. Some others shook hands without any sign of recognition. Most of the workers were men, and most of them turned after they'd passed Ronni and looked at her. A bearded worker in a plaid cap said, "Nice ass."

  As soon as the four o'clock shift had stopped admiring his wife's backside, Alexander was back in the caravan and heading for a shopping mall in Peabody.

  Alexander took up a position outside a Jordan Marsh store, across from Baskin-Robbins, and shook some more hands. Fix Farrell and Abel Westin kept herding people over toward him, and Alexander shook hands and smiled, and Ronni stood beside him and smiled.

  A short woman with her gray hair tightly permed asked Alexander what he planned to do about the "darks."

  Alexander said, "I beg your pardon?"

  She said, "The darks. What are you going to do about them? They're getting in everywhere and we're paying for it."

  Alexander said, "I feel the government has no business in education."

  The woman nodded triumphantly. A young woman in over-the-ankle moccasins and gold-rimmed glasses said, "You're opposed to public education. You wish to abolish it?"

  Abel Westin slipped between Alexander and the young woman. He said, "That's too complex a question for a forum like this, ma'am."

  "But he said the government had no business in public education."

  Alexander smiled. "We're preparing a position paper on that, my dear. When it appears I think you'll be satisfied."

  "Good question though," Westin said.

  The young woman said, "Bullshit," and went over to Baskin-Robbins for an ice cream.

  From the shopping center we went to a reception at the Colonial Hilton Inn in Lynnfield. Alexander met with the Christian Action Coalition in a function room where jug wine, cheese spread, and Wheat Thins were served from a small buffet table along one wall.

  Alexander sipped a small glass of wine, nibbled a Wheat Thin, and smiled graciously at the adoration that eddied about him like steam in a soup kitchen. All the men in the room wore suits and ties, all the women wore dresses and heels. There was a liberal sprinkling of gold jewelry among the women and a fair number of expensive wristwatches among the men. As the candidate spoke with the people, there were no questions, only shared certainties.

  "You know what they're buying with food stamps? Cupcakes. I saw a woman in front of me at Star Market…"

  "Do you know what they were reading in my kid's English class? Girls and boys both? You ever hear of Eldridge Cleaver?"

  Ronni Alexander had a glass of wine.

  "As long as the private sector has to compete with the government for money, the interest rates will stay up. It's simple supply and demand…"

  I noticed that Ronni Alexander had finished her wine and gotten another.

  The smoke thickened in the room. Born-again Christians didn't seem to sweat lung cancer.

  "… even have a Christmas pageant in school this year. Some Jew complained…"

  Fix Farrell said to me, "Okay, we gotta get going. Ronni's started on the wine."

  Ronni was getting her plastic cup refilled at the buffet.

  Farrell muttered to Westin. "Make the fucking late announcement."

  Westin said loudly above the room noise, "Excuse me, excuse me, folks."

  Farrell moved over beside Alexander and whispered to him. Dale Fraser went out to get the cars brought up.

  "Meade would stay here all night if we'd let him. But someone's got to be the bad guy. We have to get him to bed. So we thank you for coming, and if you'll just hold still a second, I know Meade will want to say good-bye. Then I hope you folks will stay and enjoy the wine."

  Alexander stepped beside Westin and his smile freshened the thick air.

  "I thank you all for coming. Remember me when it's time to vote. Listen to your conscience, and God bless."

  Then he took his wife's arm. She smiled brilliantly, and with Farrell beside them and me and Cambell behind mem, they headed out of the room and toward the waiting cars. Ronni had brought her plastic cup with her. One for the road.

  Chapter 4

  Back at the hotel in Boston, Fix wanted everyone to eat in their rooms, but Ronni wanted to try the new dining room, Apley's.

  "Francis," she said. "I'm tired of being shut up in one room or another. I want some elegance."

  Alexander nodded at Fix. "I'm sure it will be fine," he said. "Mr. Spenser can join us, if you're worried about security."

  Farrell shrugged. "Your funeral," he said. "I don't eat that French crap myself."

  The maitre d' recognized Alexander and found us a table for three without trouble. Apley's was mirrored and elegant. A woman played a harp near the middle of the room. The menu was aggressively nouvelle cuisine.

  The waiter took our drink order. I had beer. Alexander had a martini, and Ronni had a Jack Daniel's on the rocks.

  Ronni looked at the menu and then smiled at me.

  "Do you mind eating here, Mr. Spenser?"

  "No. I like it. I eat French crap a lot."

  The waiter brought the drinks. Alexander lifted his martini and smiled at us.

  "Cheers," he said. We drank. "How do you like campaigning, Spenser?"

  "On the whole, I'd rather be in Philadelphia."

  "It can be tiresome, I suppose. Ronni and I have gotten used to it. And I must say there's a lift from…" He made a gesture with his hands as if he were packing a large snowball. "From being with the people. From actually seeing the voters."

  "Including the young woman who asked about your stance on public education?"

  Alexander smiled his splendid smile. "Politics is compromise, Mr. Spenser."

  "You saw how she was dressed," Ronni said. The s's slushed just a little.

  "To try and articulate my position at that time, in that place, would not have been wise. She was obviously unsympathetic. The press was there. They'd like nothing better than to describe how I got into a shouting match in a shopping mall."

  The waiter appeared. "Excuse me," he said. "May I tell you about our specials this evening."

  Alexander nodded.

  "First you can get me one more drink," Ronni said.

  "Certainly, ma'am." The waiter took the glass, looked at Alexander and me. We shook our heads. The waiter departed.

  "Tell us a bit more about yourself, Spenser. We know only that you come highly recommended, that you are unmarried, and agnostic."

  "That says it all," I said.

  "One of Francis's sources said you were, how did he put it, an ironist."

  "That too," I said.


  The waiter returned with Ronni's bourbon. She drank it while he explained about the specials. The explanation took a while and I wondered, as I always did when people recited a menu at me, what I was supposed to do while they did it. To just sit and nod wisely made me feel like a talk show host. To get up and go to the men's room seemed rude. Once in Chicago I had tried taking notes in the margin of the menu, but they got mad at me.

  When the waiter got through, Ronni said, "Is that duck good?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "How about the stuff with the green peppercorns?"

  "The game hen? Yes, ma'am, that's excellent."

  "Which do you think would be better?" she said.

  "Both are excellent, ma'am."

  Alexander said, "I'll have the tenderloin of beef, please." The waiter looked grateful. He looked at me. I ordered duck. He looked reluctantly back at Ronni. She finished her bourbon.

  "I don't know what to have," she said. The waiter smiled.

  "If you'll bring me one more little glass of bourbon, then I'll decide." The last word sounded suspiciously like deshide.

  "Anything for you gentlemen?"

  I had another beer. Alexander shook his head. The waiter departed. Ronni was studying the menu.

  "I assume you have done police work at some time, Mr. Spenser?"

  "Yes."

  "You didn't like the police?"

  "Yes and no," I said. "Like everything else. The work is worth doing, most of it. But"-I shrugged-"too many reports. Too many supervisors who never worked the street. Too much cynicism."

  Alexander raised his eyebrows. "Too much cynicism? I would have thought you a cynic, Mr. Spenser."

  I shrugged.

  "You're not?"

  "Not entirely," I said.

  "What do you believe in?"

  The waiter came back with Ronni's bourbon and my beer.

  Alexander said to Ronni, "Why don't you have the game hen with peppercorns?"

  Ronni swallowed some bourbon and nodded.

  Alexander said to the waiter, "The lady will have the game hen with green peppercorns."

  "Very good, sir. Would you care to order wine?"

  Alexander said, "No, I don't think…"

  Ronni said, "Oh, come on, Meade. Dinner without wine is like a kiss without a squeeze."

  Alexander nodded at the waiter. He produced a wine list and handed it to Alexander. Alexander glanced through it and ordered a good California Pinot Noir. The waiter went to get it.

  Ronni began to hum along with the harpist.

  Alexander looked at me, finished his martini, put it down, and said, "So what is it you are not cynical about? What do you believe in?"

  "Love," I said. "I believe in love-Alfie."

  Alexander's face was serious as he looked at me. Ronni's humming was a little louder. The harpist was playing something classical that I didn't know. Obviously Ronni didn't know it either, but she wasn't discouraged. She swayed slightly with the music as she hummed.

  Alexander kept his gaze fixed on me. "I do too," he said.

  Chapter 5

  Alexander was working a luncheon reception at the Marriott Hotel in Springfield. The crowd was stretch-fabricked and hair-sprayed and there were hors d'oeuvres and a cash bar. The hors d'oeuvres ran to bologna and cream cheese whirls, salami and cheese cubes on a stick, chicken livers and bacon. You could almost hear the arteries clogging as Alexander's supporters wolfed them down.

  At one end of the room Meade and Ronni were in an informal reception line, shaking hands, smiling, cursing big government, and praising God. A young man and woman who looked like college kids stopped to talk with him. The boy had a mouse under his right eye. From where I was I couldn't hear them, but I saw Ronni's breath go in sharply, and I saw Alexander frown. He nodded then raised his eyes and looked around the room until he saw me. He gestured me toward him.

  As I moved toward him through the crowd, a middle-aged man in plaid slacks said, "You can't just keep giving it away to people who won't work…"A woman in a bouffant hairdo and blue-rimmed eyeglasses said, "… Darwinism simply does not have the data to support…"

  Ronni smiled at me brightly. Meade said, "Spenser, these two young people have a rather disturbing story to tell. I wonder if you could find a quiet corner and talk with them." He glanced at the two kids. "This is Mr. Spenser, our Chief of Security." I tried to look modest. "This is, ah…"

  "John," the boy said. "John Taylor. This is my fiancee, Melanie Walsh."

  I said, "How do you do," and took them to a sort of pantry off the reception room, where glassware and china and things were stored. I leaned against a stack of folded chairs and crossed my arms and said, "What's up?"

  The kids looked at each other, then John said, "We're students. AIC. I'm a junior and Melanie's a sophomore. We were handing out literature yesterday for Mr. Alexander down by the Civic Center when a couple of men came along and told us to beat it."

  I nodded.

  "I said we were not doing anything illegal and what right had they to tell us to beat it. They just sort of laughed and then one of them knocked the bunch of flyers-Melanie had a bunch of Alexander flyers and we were handing them around, you know?"

  I nodded.

  "Anyway, one of them knocked the flyers out of Melanie's hand onto the ground and the wind blew them around and then I said something and the other one hit me and knocked me down."

  "Johnny told them to leave me alone," Melanie said. "And they hit him before he was even ready and all his flyers blew around."

  "And they said if she showed up there again, they'd do a lot worse."

  "They tell you why they did that?" I said.

  "No."

  "Would you know them again?"

  "Oh, yes. But they said if we told the police, they'd find us…"

  I nodded. "Don't they always," I said.

  John said, "I don't know, sir." Except for the mouse, he looked like a choirboy. Maybe a couple years older than Paul Giacomin.

  "You folks born again?"

  "Yes, sir. I accepted Jesus Christ four years ago. And Melanie found him this past year."

  "How old were these guys?"

  John looked at Melanie. Melanie said, "They were men, you know. Grown up. Thirty, forty years old."

  John said, "They called Melanie a name."

  "Don't they always," I said. Actually Melanie looked more like Dolly Parton than Aimee Semple McPherson, but the soul wears various vestments. "You have a right to pass stuff out down there without getting molested," I said. "If you're willing to try it again, I'll go with you and if the two gentlemen show up, I will reason with them."

  "There're two of them," Melanie said.

  "I know. It's not fair," I said. "But maybe they'll bring a couple of friends and even things up."

  They both looked puzzled.

  "Look," I said. "I'm really good at this kind of thing. I can handle it fine. If you're willing, we'll get right to it. If they show up, I can surely persuade them of their sinfulness."

  "I don't like them saying that about Melanie," John said. "But they were too big for me."

  Melanie said, "I'll go."

  I said, "Good," and went to check out with Cambell and Fraser. And Alexander.

  "I'm not sure this falls under security, Spenser."

  "Security includes intelligence, Mr. Alexander. I think this needs looking into. Tommy and Dale will cover it here. It's just up the street. I'll be back in an hour."

  Cambell walked toward the door with me. "You sure you want to handle two of them by yourself?"

  I nodded toward the ceiling. "Somebody up there likes me," I said.

  "No need to make fun of us, Spenser," Cambell said. "It's serious for us."

  "That's what you and Fraser are doing here," I said.

  Cambell nodded. "Jesus is important in our lives. Because you don't understand it, no need to put it down."

  I nodded. "I make fun of everything, Tommy," I said. "Even myself. No harm intended."<
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  Cambell nodded again. "We could leave Dale here and I could drift down with you to the Civic Center," he said. "I hate to see a couple of kids get shoved around, myself."

  "Me too," I said. "Next time it's your turn." We picked up some folders that had a picture of Meade and Ronni Alexander smiling on the cover. Then we left the Marriott and headed up Main Street.

  Downtown Springfield was on the way back from hard times. The hotel was in a new complex called Bay State West that included stores and restaurants and walkways across Main Street to Steiger's and across Vernon Street to Forbes and Wallace. Up and down Main Street there were other buildings going up, but the marks of poverty and suburban shopping malls still scarred the older buildings. They stood, many empty, waiting for the wrecker's ball. The fate that they were born for.

  On the corner of Court Street we stood with our backs toward the municipal complex and looked at the Civic Center. It seemed to be made of poured concrete curtains, with the square look that had been hot when it was built in the first flush of urban rescue. It fronted on Main Street. East Court Street ran alongside it to our left and a set of concrete steps went up to a landing from which an enclosed walkway stretched across East Court to the third level of a parking garage.

  "We were handing stuff out there on the side, near the stairs," Melanie said.

  "Okay," I said. "I'll go over in the garage. You start handing stuff out near the stairs and if these guys show up, you start retreating up the stairs and across to the garage. I'll be in the garage. Don't be worried. I can see you all the time."

  They both nodded. John was having a little trouble swallowing. There was more pressure on him than there was on Melanie. He had a certain amount of manhood at stake. Or he thought he did.

  "Don't do anything silly," I said to John. "I know you're mad, and I know you feel compromised that they pushed you and Melanie around. But you're not a big kid, and I am."

  "Yesterday there were two of them and one of me," he said. "Today we're even."

  His face was very serious. He had a short haircut, parted on the left. He wore a red plaid shirt with a buttondown collar, chino pants, rust-colored deck shoes with crepe soles, and a tan parka with a forest-green lining. He probably weighed 155 pounds. He was probably an accounting major.