Dead Man’s List. Mike Lawson

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       Chapter 13

      Paul Morelli’s office was located in the Russell Senate Office Building on the northeast side of the Capitol. The interior walls of the building are polished slabs of white and gray marble, and the doors to the senators’ chambers are all brass and mahogany and an impressive eight and a half feet in height. The taxpayers house their senators in style, and Morelli’s suite had a fireplace, rich antique furnishings, and a reception area filled with plaques and awards that the state of New York had bestowed upon its favorite son. A photograph of Morelli and the president was prominently displayed. The president appeared uncomfortable in the photo—he had the look of a man who knew he was posing with his replacement.

      Morelli’s receptionist was a woman in her fifties with a horsey face and watery eyes. When DeMarco asked to see Abe Burrows, she pointed wordlessly at an open door while blowing her nose loudly into a tissue.

      Judging by his office, Burrows was a typical harried, overworked chief of staff. His small, messy room was overflowing with documents half-read or never-to-be read; his in-box was a Tower of Babel about to collapse; yellow call slips formed a large, untidy pyramid next to his phone.

      DeMarco had known dozens of men like Burrows. They didn’t have enough charisma to be elected as dog catchers but they were smart, hardworking, and fanatically dedicated. While their bosses were cutting ribbons and smooching babies, they stayed in the office until midnight, reading the fine print on the bills and making the deals that passed the laws. Politicians were often the hood ornament on the government’s machine—people like Abe Burrows were the engine.

      Burrows was on the phone when DeMarco entered his office, and DeMarco heard him say: “You tell your guy that Morelli won’t give a shit about bridges in Mississippi until someone over there starts caring about Northeast interstates. Call me back when you got your head outta your ass.”

      He was short and overweight, had frizzy hair, and wore wrinkled clothes that fit him badly—yet DeMarco knew it would be a mistake to assume Burrows’s appearance was an indicator of his character. Senators didn’t select their chiefs of staff for charm and good looks; they picked them because they were harder than diamond-coated drill bits and usually just as sharp.

      Slamming down the phone, Burrows looked at it and said, “Dipshit.” Looking up at DeMarco, he raised his eyebrows in curiosity.

      “Joe DeMarco, Abe,” DeMarco said.

      “Yeah, I know. What do you—”

      “The other night, when you and the senator couldn’t remember Janet Tyler, he told me to stop by here. He said you’d check your files.”

      “Oh, yeah. But I’m kinda busy right now. I’m…Aw, never mind. Hang on.” Burrows hit a button on his desk and said into the speaker box, “Call George Burak. Tell him to pull the personnel file on a gal named Janet Tyler. She worked for the senator when he was mayor. Tell him to do it right away and call me back.” Burrows disconnected the phone call without waiting for a response, then said to DeMarco, “Why are you wasting your time on this?”

      DeMarco obviously couldn’t tell Burrows what Lydia Morelli had told him. So he just shrugged and said, “Just being thorough. I told Dick Finley that I’d check out the names on that list, and Tyler’s the last one.”

      “Good,” Burrows said, then he ran his hands over his face, like he was trying to scrub away his fatigue. “You know, we’re gonna start our run for the White House sometime next year. And Paul will get the nomination, no doubt about it. But as soon as we declare, the Republicans are going to do everything they can to smear him. They already took a pretty good shot at him when he ran for the Senate, and СКАЧАТЬ