Acts of Mercy by Bill Pronzini, Barry N. Malzberg Read Free Book Online Page B

Augustine said in a deceptively soft voice. “But what if I refuse? What if I decide to take my case to the people?”
    A look of shock spread across Wexford’s face; he was such a party politician, Augustine thought, that it was difficult for him to conceive of anyone bucking the National Committee, even the President himself. “You wouldn’t do that,” he said.
    “Wouldn’t I? I still have a few friends left.”
    “Yes, but not enough. My God, you’d tear the party apart.”
    “Not the way I see it. The party can unify around me just as easily as around Kineen; it unified around me four years ago, didn’t it?”
    “That was a different situation entirely,” Wexford said. He was using the handkerchief again and his face had gotten as red as it had at dinner last night. “You’d better think this over carefully—don’t make any hasty decisions that you’ll regret later. I’ll tell the committee you need time to—”
    “You can tell the committee to go to hell,” Augustine said. “And then you can give them my final answer: I will not make a withdrawal announcement; I am a firm candidate for reelection. Period. Now get out of here, Julius. I have nothing more to say to you.”
    Wexford stood up. “You’re making a serious mistake, Mr. President. I urge you to reconsider.”
    Mr. President, Augustine thought. He did not look at Wexford. Instead he busied himself filling his pipe, tamping tobacco into the bowl from a brass humidor.
    “Very well,” Wexford said in flustered tones. “You have my resignation as chairman of your reelection campaign.” Which was a pathetically thin exit line but one typical of the man: he turned on his heel and stalked out of the office.
    Augustine got up immediately, holding the pipe between his thumb and forefinger, and opened the French doors and stepped out onto the terrace. He stood next to one of the white stone pillars, looking past the rose garden to the Jefferson Memorial in the distance.
    All right, he thought, so it’s come to this. A dogfight between me and Kineen. With the National Committee behind him he won’t waste any time accelerating his campaign, and that means I can’t waste any time with mine. Appoint a new campaign chairman right away, Ed Dougherty maybe. Make preparations for an early whistle-stopper in the Presidential Special. Challenge Kineen to a public TV appearance to debate issues. First thing, though, is to get some of the more prominent press people in here for a backgrounder; sit down with them, philosophize a bit on the presidency, answer their questions, strengthen my media image. Then-He realized abruptly that he was putting voice to his thoughts, mumbling aloud again as he sometimes did in moments of stress. He put the pipe between his teeth, clamped down on it resolutely, and then turned back inside his office with the intention of calling Austin Briggs and having him set up the backgrounder for tomorrow morning. But just as he reached his desk the intercom buzzed—and when he flipped the toggle, George Radebaugh told him it was three forty-five and Hendricks and Wade and Sandcrane were waiting in the anteroom.
    Bastards, Augustine thought, but the epithet was not meant for Hendricks and Wade and Sandcrane. I’ll show them; I’ll show them all. Then he said, “Have them come in,” to Radebaugh, and sat down and prepared himself to talk peace treaty again with the Indians.

Ten
     
    You look upset, Mrs. Augustine. That was Mr. Briggs on the phone, wasn’t it? Did he have bad news of some kind?
    I don’t want to discuss it, Elizabeth.
    Has something happened?
    I said I don’t want to discuss it.
    All right, Mrs Augustine. I’m sorry. Do you want me to leave?
    No. No, don’t leave. I didn’t mean to be brusque. Why don’t you pour us some coffee?
    Here you are. May I say, Mrs. Augustine, that you were a joy to watch at the UJA luncheon today. Your remarks in defense of the President were very moving.
    Thank you, Elizabeth.