The Inside Ring. Mike Lawson

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СКАЧАТЬ about DeMarco and his questions. The word immediately went up the chain of command to Donnelly. Donnelly knew, even if no one else did, about Banks’s concern with Mattis. And maybe Donnelly had someone check Banks’s appointment calendar and found out that DeMarco had met with him. DeMarco should have used a phony name with Engles.

      ‘What happened at Chattooga River is a matter for the FBI and the Secret Service, mister, and you are going to stay out of it. Do you understand? Not only have they found the guy who did it, there are still three hundred goddamn FBI agents investigating the assassination attempt! Even if you had the authority, what in the fuck do you think you could possibly do that the FBI and my people aren’t already doing?’

      Before DeMarco could respond, Donnelly said, ‘I run the Secret Service, you idiot, which means I can find out anything about anybody. I know, for example, that you’re John Mahoney’s heavy. If it’s something easy, getting a few guys to compromise on some chickenshit bill, Mahoney sends his chief of staff, that fat guy who wears suspenders. But when he doesn’t want to compromise, when he wants to shove his dick up somebody’s ass, he sends you.’

      ‘I don’t work for the Speaker,’ DeMarco said, ‘I’m an independent coun—’

      ‘Bullshit. You don’t show up on any org chart linking you to Mahoney, but Mahoney set up your position. Counsel Pro Tem. What a crock. You work for Mahoney and I know it.’

      But can you prove it? DeMarco wondered.

      ‘I also know why Mahoney doesn’t want any official connection to you. Your father was Gino DeMarco, a low-life cocksucker who worked for Carmine Taliaferro. Fifteen years ago your daddy wasted three of Taliaferro’s rivals before the fourth one got lucky and plugged him. Isn’t that right?’

      DeMarco said nothing but he felt like ripping Donnelly’s tiny ears off for calling his dad a cocksucker.

      ‘The amazing thing,’ Donnelly said, ‘is that Mahoney hired you when you got out of law school. I don’t know why he hired you – that’s the one mystery I haven’t unraveled – but I know he did. And I do know that your father is the reason Mahoney keeps you down in his cellar. He doesn’t want to have to explain your dago ass to anybody.’

      Donnelly leaned forward so his face was closer to DeMarco’s and said, ‘So let me ask you something, sonny boy. Knowing John Mahoney to be the self-serving son of a bitch that he is, how long do you think you’ll keep your job when the press finds out about you and your father and your job with the Speaker?’

      ‘Did you personally assign Billy Mattis to the President’s security detail, Mr Donnelly?’ DeMarco said.

      ‘Why you …’ Donnelly took a breath. ‘Now you listen to me and you listen good: my agents are clean. They all have outstanding records, particularly Mattis, and they all passed lie detector tests. Banks is a fool to think the Secret Service had any part in this.’

      ‘Then why didn’t you have the warning note analyzed?’

      ‘You impertinent son of a bitch!’ Donnelly said, his face turning scarlet.

      That’s it, DeMarco thought. Have a stroke, you little fuck.

      Donnelly opened his mouth to scream something else but managed to get his emotions under control. He jerked his thumb in the direction of DeMarco’s house. ‘I’d suggest you put that place on the market,’ he said. ‘You’re not going to be living in this town much longer.’

      ‘Really,’ DeMarco said.

      Donnelly smiled. His teeth were small and sharp. ‘Your job requires a security clearance, smart ass. Guess what agency does the background checks to provide that clearance? Now beat it.’

      DeMarco stepped from the limo and closed the door quietly. As he watched the taillights of the limo disappear up the block, he stood quietly in the center of the street, feeling the sweat go cold on his arms and legs.

      So Donnelly knew about his father.

       12

      A woman answered Emma’s phone; she sounded like Emma, the same low voice, the same inflections, but the speaker wasn’t Emma. The woman, whoever she was, passed the phone to Emma who said, ‘If you’re a telemarketer, I’m going to hunt you down, burn your house, and kill your dog.’ She sounded serious.

      ‘It’s Joe, Emma. And wouldn’t it be easier to get on one of those do-not-call lists?’

      ‘Those lists are unconstitutional.’

      ‘And house burning and dog killing aren’t?’

      ‘Why are you calling at such an ungodly hour?’

      ‘Emma, it’s only nine.’

      ‘Oh. So what do you want?’

      ‘Patrick Donnelly just came to my house and threatened me. The other day, when we listened to your friend, the cello player, you seemed to know something about him. I’d like to know what you know.’

      ‘He came to your house?’

      ‘Yeah.’

      Emma hesitated then said, ‘All right. Come on over.’

      Her voice sounded strange. She sounded … worried. DeMarco had rarely known Emma to be worried about anything.

      Emma answered her door wearing jeans, a white T-shirt, and a blue smock smeared with paint. DeMarco didn’t know she painted; just one more thing about her he’d discovered accidentally. She took DeMarco into a living room that could have made the cover of House Beautiful and poured them whiskeys. She slugged hers down and immediately poured herself another.

      Before DeMarco could say anything a young woman entered the living room. He was immediately struck by her resemblance to Emma. She was tall like Emma and had Emma’s nose and Emma’s chin, but her hair was dark and her eyes were brown. The young woman looked over at DeMarco, her expression wary.

      ‘Julie, this is Joe DeMarco. A friend of mine.’

      No smart-ass cracks tonight, like DeMarco being a bagman. Emma was definitely not herself.

      The young woman nodded at Joe then turned back toward Emma.

      ‘I’m tired. Jet lag, I guess. I’m going to hit the sack,’ Julie said.

      I’m tired, Mom. That’s what it sounded like to DeMarco. He was sure the young woman was Emma’s daughter.

      ‘That’s a good idea, hon,’ Emma said. ‘We’ll sort this out in the morning.’

      And Emma, DeMarco thought, sounded absolutely, unbelievably maternal. A maternal Emma seemed stranger to DeMarco than snakes cuddling.

      After Julie left the room, DeMarco said, ‘Is everything okay, Emma?’

      Emma shook her head, dismissing DeMarco’s question.

      ‘Tell СКАЧАТЬ