

THE VENGEFUL UNHINGED

Jerry Sonenblick
  * 2015 Jerry Sonenblick All rights reserved. ISBN: 1517057779 ISBN 13: 9781517057770

Library of Congress Control Number: XXXXX (If applicable)

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THE VENGEFUL UNHINGED

FORGET, HE SHALL NOT

The ruling handed down by the Arizona Supreme Court was terse. It read in part:

"It is difficult to feel compassion for an attorney who consciously performs tasks to his own advantage and to his client's disadvantage. His conduct involves moral turpitude and the complete disregard for the oath he uttered when he was first admitted to the Bar. Mr. Grewe has failed to perceive his professional duty to act morally and ethically in all matters."

The decision went on to disbar Mason Grewe from the practice of law. Like the venomous sinking of a snake's fangs, the infection heaped upon Mason Grewe in the form of humiliation and self-depreciation was bottomless. He was stripped of his license to practice law, stripped of all self-respect.

He could only run and run he did. Within a week he packed up and left for Las Vegas. He now hated Arizona; he now hated the practice of law; and more than the pleasure of being on the receiving end of a platter of gold, he hated David Sherwood.

He kept recoiling at the thought that holier-than-thou Sherwood had fingered him to the State Bar after the case had been settled privately. What really pissed him off was that Jimmy Keenan, his former client who he screwed, was happy when Sherwood settled the case and Jimmy got his money back. Jimmy then told Sherwood that
he didn't want to squeal on Mason. "Hotshot" Sherwood had gone ahead anyway, claiming it was his duty as a lawyer, and filed charges, which led to Mason's disbarment.

Before Mason, totally disgraced, left Tucson, he managed one final act. His hatred dictated that he hire a spy. It was an absolute must that David Sherwood be destroyed.
THE VENGEFUL UNHINGED

Tucson, Arizona, Fall 1964

TORTURED LOVE

It had to be serendipity. David Sherwood happened to ring the wrong doorbell, and in doing so met the very charming young lady who greeted him. She directed him to the correct address next door and politely closed the door. Surprisingly, he ran into her the next day. They both happened to be walking down the same aisle looking for toothpaste in a local Walgreens store.

Graciously, David introduced himself, and she hesitatingly said, "I'm Julie," with no encouragement. When they discovered they both wanted the same toothpaste, they exchanged looks of surprise commingled with sudden interest.

David grabbed at the opportunity. "I'll bet that we would enjoy the same food also." He paused, rubbed his chin as if he were examining the possibilities open to her, and said, "Let me see. I'll bet you like Italian food."

"And I'll bet you have something on your mind!"

"Well, it goes like this. Fate has intervened; it was ordained that we would run into each other two days in a row. The inner spirits are insisting that a third time is necessary to get to know each other better. Much better."
"That's some spirit! I have a strong inner spirit, too, that speaks well of you. How 'bout that?"

"Tomorrow?"

"Why wait? You just happen to know where I live." Julie glanced at her slender wrist; Mickey Mouse's hands were tracking her time. "I could be free in one hour."

David wore no watch. He looked down at his wrist anyway. "That's perfect for some quality time with you."

"See you in one hour." She sauntered off, the distraction causing her to forget to buy any toothpaste. Half turning, she said, "Incidentally, my last name is Landow."

As they drove to Caruso's, a historic name in Italian food that opened during Arizona's early days, they exchanged light conversation sprinkled with witticisms. David found that Julie was unusually quick. When they veered to thoughtful topics, he discovered that she had an abundance of creative ideas, some challenging.

This is one intelligent lady, he quickly noted, finding it veryappealing. He was impressed that she had graduated from Stanford and was presently doing postgraduate work in education at the university. She planned to teach political science at the high school level after she completed her studies at the end of this coming term.

Common interests, intelligence, and good humor continued to weave through their conversations. With her natural warmth, her
smile, which spoke of a love of life, seemed to sparkle. Her long sandy hair, parted slightly off-center, fell gently upon her shoulders. Crystal-blue eyes buttressed high cheekbones that were adorned by a few freckles. She appeared taller than her actual height of five feet five inches. That certain intangible called chemistry began to dance a tune upon their heartstrings, and there were signs of mutual desire to see each other again.

That evening, while alone, David couldn't seem to get her out of his mind, yet he knew possible conflicts existed between them. At first, her last name did not register with him, but then it dawned upon him that the name, Landow, was well known in Tucson. Her father owned a successful stock-brokerage company and was a respected business leader in the community.

***

While growing up in Tucson, David became aware that his family was not welcome in certain restaurants, country clubs, private clubs, and even some hotels. These places were restricted; Jews and other minorities were not welcome. Probably, that had a great deal to do with the fact that he had naturally developed friendships with fellow Jews and joined a Jewish fraternity while an undergrad at the University of Arizona in Tucson. Similarly, he had dated only Jewish girls all through college.

Of average height, only a few inches taller than Julie, he was remarkably handsome with a full head of curly black hair, soft-brown eyes, and a winning smile. He was a favorite of his aunts, who called
him "pretty boy" and had continued to pinch his cheeks until he was old enough to find it annoying.

Although there was no telling whether his relationship with Julie would develop into something meaningful, he recognized that for the first time in his life, he had met someone who was significant—and not Jewish.

From that auspicious beginning, their relationship grew to the point that they saw each other every day. When David had to research a particular legal problem or spend evenings with clients, they still managed to talk each day, even if it was late in the evening.

As their relationship grew intense, Julie dominated his thoughts to the detriment of his appetite, which had all but disappeared. Yet, he maintained conflicting emotions. What did a serious relationship mean? Was his freedom in jeopardy?

While driving home one evening, she slowly articulated her words, fearful of applying pressure, while they were discussing a friend's baby. "It's hard to believe that we've been going together for over a year. Doesn't time pass quickly?"

David picked up immediately on the not-so-very-hidden implication, adding mirthfully, "How can anyone say that the male is the aggressor?" Then, he hesitated, a thought flashing before him, portraying a rope stretched to its limits, about to break. He realized it was time, time that he acted. He hesitated no longer, in a soft voice, yet with conviction, he said, "I think you're right." Taking his foot off the accelerator, he pulled off and parked on a side street. Half
turning, he leaned forward, locking foreheads with her. "I guess we all like to put things off. I hold my freedom very precious, but in all fairness, when you think about it, we're not even engaged."

"David, that's the most honest statement you ever made." She hovered closer, lowered her head, held his hand, and kissed it warmly.

He found getting engaged exciting, but it fed the usual crowded feelings—again he saw his freedom flitting away as a butterfly swaying beyond control in a heavy wind. Seeking relief, he said, "Let's drive to the end of Campbell and smooch among all the other parked lovers. Then, dear heart, assuming my nerve holds up, we can talk some more about our future with each other."

When they parked, they slouched down and were soon caught up in each other's warmth. Julie's innate sensibility made it easy for him; she said, "Let's wait just a little while to get used to the idea of something deeper happening."

David felt relief, but he noticed a transformation in Julie; she soon took on a whole new appreciation of herself.

A few months later, while struggling with new pressures at his office, he called to tell her that he had to cancel their Friday-night date. That call made him conscious—conscious of the fact that he had been putting off the inevitable. He knew he could no longer hold out. The time was now to face the unescapable and boldly declare his love.
He made morning plans with her to camp for the day at a favorite spot that offered the ultimate in privacy within their favorite nature habitat, Sabino Canyon. From the visitor parking lot, they entered the canyon, which yawned before them; its beauty offered an inviting welcome. Hand in hand, oblivious to time and distance, they turned off the paved walkway.

Soon their hands were outstretched, tipping in one direction and then the other as they tried to balance themselves while hopping from one semi-flattened rock, a product of centuries of erosion, to another in the bubbling waters of a stream. They edged closer to one of the many scenic caverns within the immense mountain terrain that loomed. As they approached their secluded hideaway, they waded in now-still waters, almost a foot deep, until they landed upon a small, level area nestled within natural rock formations on three sides. It was early fall, and though the water was chilly, they enjoyed the giggles it produced.

Once they were safely blanketed together, David leaned his head toward Julie, touching his cheek to hers. "I have something special to say." He gazed up at the clear blue sky as if he were seeking divine guidance. Julie's eyes focused longingly on him. She knew; she was ready; she would hang on every word.

He began to talk quickly; thoughts he had saved up began to gush, though he kept his voice soft. With a tenderness that reached the inner channels of his heart, he said, "I need you very much. I want
to marry you." He clasped her head between his hands, and their eyes met.

"You mean more than life to me," she breathed.

That magic moment! His desire now meshed with her love for him. Waves of joy undulated through her body. She touched his face, his shoulders, and gently ran her fingers down his arms. He was hers. Her lips met his. She touched his stomach and then proceeded lower, feeling the rise of his hardness as he uttered a soft, blissful, indescribable sound. He met her overwhelming longing for him with the fierceness of his response. Their bodies physically locked, expressing their deep, abiding devotion to each other.

That night they set a date for their wedding, deciding not to tell their parents until they worked out that which they had been avoiding, sidestepping the subject each time it arose; now they knew it was an absolute must; they had to talk about their differing religions.

Julie put it well: "I guess we both knew that our two different religious worlds would eventually work their way up to prime time."

They decided to devote the next day to the serious side of their pending life together. They made plans to go out to dinner. Because the occasion would be auspicious, David selected the Tack Room, the only restaurant with a five-star rating in Tucson, located on the outskirts of the city on a dude ranch. Guests had to traverse a winding road to reach the remodeled ranch house with its all-new, redecorated interior, maintained in its original Western-style setting.
Unlike most ranch restaurants, it did not feature steaks and chops. To dine there was to enjoy a truly gourmet, fine-dining experience, which offered a complete selection of unique, well-prepared meals, complemented by a full menu of expensive wines from around the globe. David knew his personal budget seldom could bear an expense like that, but his wife-to-be deserved the very best this special evening.

The evening conversation meandered casually in many directions. The dinner was superb, and the service by three different servers, one of whom was always at their table side, was impeccable. For dessert, David ordered the specialty of the house, a blend of chocolate-covered strawberries and chocolate-dipped nuts that adorned a huge portion of chocolate cheesecake, accompanied by two forks. As they jointly surveyed the treat, aptly named the Chocolate Extravaganza, he said, "Well, do we indulge first, or should we explore the difficult subject that has been on both of our parents' minds ever since we met?"

"I talked to my girlfriend Millie earlier. She has always encouraged our relationship, so long as it makes us happy," Julie said.

"Millie is a dear. I always like people who agree with us." David joked, but he meant every word.

"She even offered to go to temple services some day. It's more than just curiosity with her. She wants to share the experience with us as a friend."
"That's mighty courageous. Many eyes will be upon her."

"David, I know about many eyes. They are everywhere, every time we run into people we know."

There was a note of defiance in her voice, which David appreciated. It expressed the strength of her love for him and her willingness to endure some traitorous looks from others. "You know, honey, in a sense, it's a lot of fun. We're leading the pack. Trailblazers often take the heat. Down the road, I'll bet there will be more that depart from the traditional path." A soft, emotional cry beckoned from within. He knew that he was doing the right thing, but it took courage—and a lot of guts. He wiped a tear from his eyes. "I'm yours for life and all that goes with it," he said encouragingly.

"You're the man of the house. You're our leader. Lead me, oh great one," she said.

"Lead you, hell. I'm a little puppy dog when I'm with you."

"Oh, great puppy dog, lead me through puppy-dog land." She came back quickly, stifling a chuckle.

"Well, since you put it that way, I shall pounce first. It all started when we were babes in arms. Our religions were assigned to us by virtue of being born to our families. We have been steeped in the traditions of our religions ever since. They have been bred into us. However"—he held up a finger of reproach—"before I go further, I have an offering for you." He carved a huge piece of the cake, holding his hand underneath to protect against drippings, and gently
placed the sumptuous portion within her open mouth. She slowly devoured it with her eyes closed and her imagination wide open.

With a half whisper, she said, "It's such a shame that yummy treats like this cause such weight gain. I wonder why that is."

"God does tempt us, doesn't he? Now, where was I? Oh yeah. It's like the nose on your face. We're born with it. Though if it's a bit too large, there is something that we can do about it. So having said all that, I'm going to make things easy for you."

"You never have made things easy for me so far," she quipped, eyes lowered, watching as David devoured the second helping. She raised her eyes. "So what is your little old dear heart going to do for me that is so easy?"

"I'm not going to ask you to change religions. I don't think it's something that I can ask of you. Changing religion should be done only as a matter of belief, not as a convenience to please a spouse or a parent."

"I am stunned," she said, choked up with feelings of appreciation intermixed with her still-deeper feelings of love. "It is customary to adopt the man's religion. And, after all, all religions share a faith in God."

"True, but they sure have different ways of going about it," he replied, wondering where this would take them.

"I'm sure that I can get used to the different rituals, if you will be patient with me."
"Honey," he said as his voice softened, "we will climb the hill together. I will give you all the time and patience you need."

"Then I shall insist that our children be raised Jewish," she declared firmly.

"Now I'm stunned," he said, suddenly overcome. Unable to hold back tears, he managed to say, through a thickened voice, "Frankly, I hadn't thought about that. Why did you decide that?"

The mother within her spoke. "Children need identity. They need focus. I know that we'd be assigning a religion to them, but I think it makes the most sense. Otherwise, they would be floundering between two religions, which could lead to no religion at all. I feel strongly that would be a big mistake. Also, I like Judaism."

"This is easier than expected," he said, his humor returning. "We should've gone to a hamburger joint. Think of the money that could've been saved."

"Not so, my friend," she retorted. "I would have found another way to spend the savings." Looking into his tear-filled eyes, she added, "I also think it important that I learn some basics in Hebrew and find out all about Judaism."

"So do we celebrate both Christmas and Hanukkah? What about other holidays?" he asked.

"Neither one of us is very religious. We can celebrate Christmas and Easter and the Jewish high holidays, Rosh Hashanah and Yom
Kippur. I also want very much to light candles on Friday night and recite the Hebrew blessing."

David sat back with astonished satisfaction, knowing that this wonderful lady sitting before him would soon be his wife. "Julie," he said lovingly, "you are a jewel." He handed her a small container.

She lifted the lid. She could not hold back the tears.

***

"How could it have happened?" David still couldn't believe it.

Reality had eluded him; he had been in la-la land.

When the first clues appeared, he heard them but didn't see them. Now he felt his underpinnings, the very essence of his being, were in shambles; he was in free fall and couldn't escape the racing thoughts that nagged his deeply saddened soul. He and Julie were so perfectly matched, ordained by God, and suddenly they were parted —forever.

The incidents were now vivid before him. He recalled the first innocuous clue, which came after they announced their engagement. It hadn't registered in his mind at the time. Perhaps others would have recognized the signal before the train gathered speed, finally accelerating in a race with the winds.

He thought back to the time that he and Julie had enjoyed lunch at the Old Pueblo Club. Her eyes had danced jubilantly, triumphantly, as she exclaimed in a gush of words, "When we first told my parents of our engagement, I could tell that they were having trouble with the
idea. Now the two moms are so happy. They're acting as if they first thought of it." Then, she had hesitated for a moment. "My dad, I think, is feeling some pressure from his friends at the country club. Every so often he seems cool to the idea of our mixed marriage, but gradually he's coming around. He surprised me last night, proposing that we have a nonreligious wedding in a hotel, since neither a rabbi nor a pastor will marry us."

Caught up in her enthusiasm, David had responded, "I really appreciate the fact that your folks are being so helpful, particularly your dad. The pressures that he is facing are not easy for him, especially since his country club doesn't accept Jews as members."

As he reviewed the situation, he could understand what her dad was experiencing. Meredith Landow was a proud man. Tall, slightly balding, and highly energetic at fifty-five, he wore horn-rimmed glasses and was often deep in profound thought. He was the sole owner of a prosperous stock-brokerage company, and his clientele included many of the elite leaders in the community. Additionally, he had a substantial interest in a growing tire business in Tucson and Phoenix, which was managed by his oldest son from a former marriage.

In a community such as Tucson, with a metropolitan population of about one hundred thousand, a few could run many, and indeed the town had such a group of men. Meredith Landow was a part of this in-group, along with Elliot Snyder, editor-owner of one of Arizona's dailies; Claude Haynes, owner of a very successful estate-
brokerage company; Brandon Calhoun, owner of car dealerships in Arizona, California, and Colorado; and a handful of others. Landow was very close to Barry Goldwater, whose stature in the Senate as a leader of the conservative movement was growing at a runner's pace, and Meredith had served as one of the senator's chief fundraisers in southern Arizona. It was fair to say that Meredith Landow was among Tucson's movers and shakers.

In retrospect, what did them in was the engagement party. The eventful evening suddenly appeared before David like an old snapshot while leafing through a photo album. The Landows' hosted the party to introduce David and Julie to the community. They sent invitations to family and friends on both sides; the party took place at the Landows' lovely new home in the Catalina foothills. It was a spacious layout on ten acres, nestled within the rise of a mountain overlooking the city. From the secluded gated community, residents at night could see the broad expanse of Tucson glowing brightly, lit up as if by floodlights on a movie set.

A mild breeze lightly caressed the joyous guests as they mingled outdoors on the spacious, multilevel back patio. On the first level, decorative flower beds adorned the circular patio wall amid lush plantings and tall palm trees that swayed with the soft mountain wind. At the far end, the patio opened onto a lower level, which featured a lighted, edgeless, black-bottomed pool that seemingly dipped into eternity.
Dinner, catered by El Charro, was set out on the upper level in buffet style. Well known for its dining pleasures, El Charro was one of Tucson's oldest Mexican restaurants, established during the early days of Arizona's statehood. A specialty of the house, their carne seca, was marinated and then dried and cured in the sun for four to five days on large hanging racks. Other fare that evening included boatloads of grilled shrimp, fillets of broiled salmon, charro beans, a bountiful salad, thickened cheese crisps, and an array of salsas. Each guest's palate was amply satiated. Any who were slim-minded gave way to the tempting selections as they proceeded down the line. Julie's parents had planned beautifully and lavishly for their only daughter.

The only disappointment to the perfect evening was the number of tables and chairs left empty, owing to a wave of last-minute cancellations by friends of the Landows. All those in attendance acted as if they hadn't noticed, but Julie's father was tense; he hardly smiled the entire evening. David was embarrassed, knowing the reason.

At the end of the evening, after the guests had departed, David quietly pulled Julie aside. His boyish good looks and big smile had been replaced by a furrowed brow and tightened lips. "Honey, I am so sorry," he said gently. "Obviously I'm responsible for the no-shows. How 'bout let's talk to your dad about it?"

Julie stiffened. Softening hurriedly, she whispered, "Oh, David, no, that would make matters worse. I know him. He has to nurse his
wounds first, and then he'll settle down. I'll talk to him tomorrow." Looking longingly into his soft-brown eyes, blended with olive tones, which she always adored, she murmured, "I knew there would be setbacks like this. I've grown used to the snobbery and the pettiness. My folks still have some adjusting to do." With a flourish, she flung her arms around him. "David, you are the man I love; you have my heart."

"OK," he muttered, tears welling. "The party was so lovely. Your parents planned everything so well. This is a terrible disappointment." He tilted his head toward hers, their foreheads became one. "I just want you to know that I got the message. The Gentile community is not ready to accept a Jew."

***

David called Julie the next day, and the next day, and a third day; her mother, who answered the phone, gave the same answers each time. "I'm sorry, David; Julie cannot come to the phone right now."

On the fourth day, Julie called. A mixture of surprise, curiosity, and disappointment swirled within his head. He quickly composed himself, greeting her with a friendly "Hi."

She rushed her words. "David, I've been crying for three days. I'm terribly mixed up. I don't want to hurt you or my folks. My folks are terribly concerned about us, about whether we'll make it." She breathed in. "I think it's my dad's fear of losing clients and his social
position in the community. I guess I never realized how important those things were to—"

David interrupted. "Isn't there some way to work this out? We could elope. Say, what about this? I would agree that he doesn't have to share his friends with us. Look..." He slowed down to gather his thoughts. "We could see them privately, just on family occasions. Also, you could do some things with them alone, like go to church without me. There won't be any pressure, I—"

"Honey, darling, bear with me," she pleaded. "I have to sort this out. I made a promise to my folks. Please understand, I don't want to hurt you, but what can I do? My folks have invited me to go to Hawaii with them for ten days. We're leaving the day after tomorrow."

David slumped in his chair, feeling powerless. "We...What does this mean? Julie, are we... We can't...let...what we shared together die. Oh my God!" he cried out in anguish. "I can't stand this."

Julie, sensing that their hopes had been shattered, forced herself to stay in control. In a modulated tone, she said, "I'll call or write as soon as I arrive. I must go. Bye, David." She clicked off. The death knell had been tolled; David's head throbbed.

Five days later, he received a small package in the mail, accompanied by a short note. David, my dear love, I am so sorry. Within the small box, she had returned their engagement ring.

***
David was very fortunate; he had two parents whom he could open up his heart to and feel comfortable. Their strong support also meant straight answers. Though their critiques, when offered, were soft and sweet, he still felt their sting when they landed.

His father, Nathan, was balding and middle aged, wore rimless glasses, and was of continual good spirits, as evidenced by the warmth of a winning smile that often lingered on his face. His mother, Shirley, still portrayed the same angelic quality from the days when she and Nathan were college sweethearts, though her waistline had expanded as the relentless processes of aging edged ever onward. Also good natured, she could be thoughtful at times, but she avoided harsh criticism, preferring reason over imposed discipline.

Although she was a devoted homemaker who played down her community activities, she often assumed an activist role. An admitted do-gooder, she engaged in many organizations. She particularly sought to help the less fortunate, which included minorities and women, often relegated to lesser roles in society.

Nathan and David often would have healthy conversations over the dinner table with her, commonly dealing with the subject of budgetary limitations upon some of the excess demands that she wished to impose. Although she acknowledged that what they were saying had merit, she still argued that society could be doing more. Hypocrisy annoyed her a great deal. The rabbi and the clergy of other faiths preached charity; the members would nod their heads in approval and then often zipper up their pocketbooks.
She began to take a particular interest in the veterans who returned from the three terrible wars, most recently the Vietnam War. The prices that they paid, she felt, were enormous, and the injuries often inflicted were of a permanent nature. Their sacrifices too often went virtually unnoticed by society.

Her letters to the editor could be particularly stinging. Sometimes David found them embarrassing, but nonetheless, he acknowledged her sincere intentions. As he was an only child, his parents' influence had a substantial effect upon him. From them, among many qualities, he discovered that he needed to look, touch, and feel opposing viewpoints. All in all, they were a close-knit family; David often acknowledged that he was "one fortunate guy."

Since David was still living in the guesthouse at home, they began to eat more dinners together now that Julie had absented herself from his life. As could be expected, their family conversations were often lively, as they peppered each other with thoughts on politics, world events, the betterment of society, and other debatable subjects of the day.

His father owned three hardware stores, but he was becoming apprehensive of what was taking place in the industry. Over the years Nathan had built up a very comfortable business. Unlike many fathers, he was realistic; he discouraged David from joining him in business. He saw in his son ambition and growth, and he did not want him to stagnate in the hardware business. Chains and large discount houses were opening, carrying popular electrical tools, small
appliances, hand tools, and lawn care—often his mainstays—causing his profits to diminish.

For a few days, David had kept from his parents the news about his breakup and Julie's return of his ring. Finally, with his shoulders hunched and his head down, at dinner he related to them the bruising he had endured when his relationship had totally collapsed. They took turns crying. His parents loved Julie as much as he did. Their differences in religion had taken some adjusting, but they found her so charming that they had easily accepted her, and they had soon accepted the idea that their son would be one of the few to enter into a mixed marriage.

His mother, choking back her tears, said, "We will always be here for you."

His father abruptly jumped in. "Hell, they think their shit is pearly white. Whatta joke!"

The suddenness of the adroit remark, which was completely out of character for his father, broke the tension that draped the room like a storm cloud. David and his mother broke out in spontaneous laughter, and they were soon followed by his father, caught up in the contagion. The previously disheartened mood soon settled into meaningful hugs and titters of family humor. David's adjustment had begun.

As David left his parents' home, he couldn't help but wonder whether he would ever forget Julie and his great love for her. They had talked or seen each other almost every day. Their lives had
become intertwined. They had shared so much in common, including their innermost secrets, which had only reinforced their convictions that they were meant for each other.

He couldn't help but dwell on their past together, though he knew it was useless. So much had gone on in the last year between them that he couldn't help himself.

He still remembered their dinner at the very posh Tack Room, where they had truly enjoyed a wonderful evening. Above all, he recalled how she had gazed longingly at her engagement ring that evening. Tears welled in his eyes; they had shared the momentous experience together by holding hands across the table.

He had been disappointed when he went to see the rabbi, who immediately congratulated him and blessed him but regretfully shook his head, saying that he could not marry them. The Jewish custom would allow a marriage only between two Jews. Upon hearing the news, Julie, cheerful as always, had reluctantly offered, "That makes two. I waited for the rabbi to make a decision, but I found out earlier that the pastor also won't marry us."

They had known there would be problems in the community. Jews were isolated, as were other minorities. She had told her dad that she thought it was wrong that his country club was restricted, but he had said there was nothing he could do about it. She had admitted that her father was not the fighting type. His theory was, "To get along, go along." She had decided a long time before that if any of her girlfriends began to snub her or talk down to her, she would
immediately cut them off. She was truly independent, a free thinker, and totally unbiased.

They had shared a love on a deep level. Their desires, even their lovemaking, had carved niches in their hearts. Julie had become so much a part of his life that it never occurred to him that they would not share the golden years, aging together. He had respected her so much, and still did, but now he respected her from a distance. It would take him months to forget her. He resolved to do so because as difficult as it would be, he must go on with his life, as must she.

He hoped that if there was such a thing as the hereafter, they would reunite and again share camping at Sabino Canyon, enjoy the beautiful sunsets together, and even share some bumps along the way, if such were possible in the great beyond.

Farewell, my dear lady. I grant you Godspeed and thank you for the many memorable times we shared together.
THE VENGEFUL UNHINGED

AN UNHOLY ALLIANCE

Las Vegas, Nevada, Fall 1964

Safely settled in Las Vegas, after he angrily moved from Tucson, Mason Grewe became enmeshed in various gambling activities. He had long been fond of betting on the horses, but upon landing in Vegas, he found a new love—poker. Mason had a rare ability; he could mentally track displayed cards, and though he made some calculated guesses, using probabilities, he could reasonably calculate the cards that remained hidden in the undistributed deck or in an opponent's hand.

Though the dealers were getting wise and beginning to use multiple decks of cards, which made it much more difficult, his photographic memory still gave him an edge. Of greater benefit was his voracious appetite for anything written by gambling experts, whose books he devoured. He spent hours studying the play and strategy of the game, percentage opportunities depending upon various card holdings, situational timing, and most importantly, when to hold 'em and when to fold 'em. He became a formidable player. In particular he had an innate ability to size up his opponents. No detail was too small. He would focus on eye movements, facial tics, uneasy hand motions, and any other telltale signs that would offer a clue as to what was going on in an opponent's mind.
Initially, he was a regular at the renowned Golden Nugget in the heart of "honky-tonk-ville," which was how he described the atmosphere within the downtown locale. Lit up like thousands of candles, it was a hub of timeless activity in an atmosphere void of windows and clocks. Early on he labeled Vegas the "city of lost wages."

He was fascinated with the many characters who defied description from so many walks of life. If ever there was a hangout for ne'er-do-wells, the hapless with their hands out, the glamorous and the unglamorous, seeking to make a buck, Las Vegas was heaven revisited after they had lost their way. Still guarded and withdrawn, owing to the emotional beatings he took as a child, and forever influenced by his diminutive size, Mason naturally sought out people whom he perceived as non-challenging.

Because he had no friends, he warmed to Pappy La Rosa, a mild-mannered elderly gentleman with a conspicuous limp, which bore witness to his having contracted polio as a child. Portly and friendly, he wore only custom-fitted dark suits, expensive silk ties, and white-on-white patterned dress shirts. His dapper appearance seemed somewhat out of character for the man until Mason found out more about him and his background.

Pappy was impressed with Mason's card-playing skills. They began spending time together before or after playing. When they did play, they were careful not to do so against one another. Additionally, the two started frequenting the larger hotels, which were greater
magnets for tourists loose with their dollars. They would keep an eye out for those hotshot poker-hungry players who came into town for short periods of time, thinking that they knew the game. Because these eager fools played once a week at home and often won, they fancied themselves as experts. Those were the ones, overconfident and easily recognizable by Pappy and Mason, who became their targets. Pappy and Mason were only too happy to play these enthusiastic gadflies, and even happier to dispossess them of their wads.

Pappy took a liking to his younger associate. Mason was generous and more than willing to share tips and insights into the game with him. Pappy reciprocated with acknowledged recognition of Mason's expertise. This was the kind of recognition Mason had always sought. What particularly intrigued Pappy, upon researching Mason's background, was that Mason had been disbarred. Pappy now knew that he could trust Mason. Greed would be their bonding agent.

As their friendship deepened, Mason became aware that Pappy was not an ordinary person. Gradually, it became evident that he had connections, big-time connections, with the right people. He knew the bosses, powerful men who either owned many of the hotels on the Strip or had bought up substantial land sites on the Strip for future development. Once Mason learned that Pappy worked for some of these men, he felt flattered that this elderly gentleman had taken him into his confidence. Though Pappy was careful about what he said, he did disclose to Mason that the hotels had layered ownerships and
that the true bosses were deep underground. Pappy's common Sicilian background particularly helped him form bonds with the close-knit families that dominated the industry, families whose substantial presence in the world of stealth would soon become known. Little did Mason know at the time that Pappy had plans for him, and that as his new mentor, Pappy was already laying the groundwork for what was to come.

As a year passed, Pappy became more and more confident that Mason would be a good fit for the role he envisioned for him. So at last, this balding gentleman in his sixties, with his pronounced limp and equally pronounced waistline, decided to approach Mason with his idea. An idea that Mason would assume that Pappy himself had concocted, but in fact, it had originated with those undisclosed underground owners, the master strategists who had issued instructions for Pappy to proceed.

It all began with a phone call. "Mason, my friend, how are you?"

"Hi, Pappy, not bad," Mason replied as he glanced in the mirror at his meager stubble. Forcing some humor, he gibed in his deep, monotone, bass voice, "You sound to me like you're a happy Pappy."

"You guessed it." Pappy paused. "Mason, I want to make you very happy. How about lunch today? My treat. I have a proposition for you."

Hearing the buzzword "proposition" touched off Mason's deeply protected, guarded feelings, causing him to silently retreat. "I'm
always good for lunch, but I'm not an easy make when it comes to propositions."

The laughter was spontaneous on the other end. "Relax, my friend. My only intention is to guide you, and I promise not to make advances. You have helped me make money at poker. Now I'm going to help us both make substantial profits so that we can play for higher stakes—much, much higher."

Still wondering what Pappy had on his mind, Mason glanced up at the full-length mirror on his closet door so he could comb his hair. It was an effort, always an effort, when he had to look at himself. So small, so goddamn small; he didn't want to be reminded of his height every time he looked at himself. Sure, he knew that Napoleon and Julius Caesar were small, and so were those idiots Hitler and Mussolini. It's true they all got somewhere; they all had people at their command.

He remembered the words of his late mother, the one person in his life, despite her accent, that he adored. "Don't worry, I shall always love you, my little baby. When you grow up, you will be more successful than all of them." Yet, try as he might, he thought his size lessened his power over people, forcing him to act stronger to overcome the deficiency. He vowed that he would; he would overcome his handicap.

At night, the same recurring dream often pleasured him, with visualizations of towering, voluptuous women paying homage to his every sexual demand, causing him, within moments, to arch his back
in pure joy as he climaxed, the spewing engulfing his loins. He would then roll over and lapse into a deep sleep with a soft velvet smile on his face.

After a brimming portion of tortellini immersed in a cheese-and-tomato sauce, Mason and Pappy settled back to a favored pastime, a steaming cappuccino with full froth, complemented by the richness and full flavor of a treasured Havana cigar. Gradually Mason's emotions, seldom visited, began to emerge from their safe harbor within his fragile frame. Though now defenseless, Mason had a lingering question. What is Pappy's proposition?

"Pappy, you've entertained me; I'm in a good mood. Now hit me; what's on your mind?" Contented, having fired off the question on his mind, Mason leaned back, slowly inhaling, eyes half-closed, and waited patiently.

Pappy, who was known for pontification, responded with true Italian gusto. With eyes bright, full of merriment, as if he were already counting the daily take, he began. "I'm sure you realize that Vegas is growing and will continue to grow for many years. What you don't know is that the present number of hotels on the Strip is just the beginning. Since Caesars Palace has opened, and proved that it is a smashing success, you'll see more and more big-time extravaganza hotels springing up. If you and I play our cards right, riches can be had. While those big-time operations continue to grow, it opens the door for smaller operations to fill in the gaps. What I have in mind, and I have the necessary capital behind me, is to open an operation
that caters to a different class of people. I'm thinking of nightclubs tailored to the average Joe, who wants a good meal without having to overpay for it. Scantily dressed dancers would be part of the attraction, but setting aside a private area for gaming, where our friend Joe can feel comfortable and appreciated, will be the ultimate magnet. The idea is to create a feeling of exclusivity for this sector, which has never before been given much attention. You would be surprised how much money they blow gambling."

"Hell, Pappy, I'm not an operator. I'm not sure what you have in mind, but I've never operated a restaurant or a nightclub. I love the idea, but I'm not your man."

"Don't worry. You should be asking another question." "What's that?" Mason replied, still unsure of himself.

Pausing, savoring the moment, seeking to maintain the puzzled eagerness so evident on Mason's face, Pappy said in a hushed tone, "Mason, I've watched you carefully for over a year. Keep this in mind. I can train people, but I can't teach shrewdness. That's something you've got. It's like trying to recruit an athlete. Even the best coaches require talent. Also, you're a Jew boy; Jews are special that way."

Pappy looked down at his lit cigar in his hand, calmly tipping the ashes into the tray. He sat back, self-assured. "Mason, your services are needed where your strengths lie. I will supply the operations people, but you'll be the overall manager. You will be in charge of the cash. It will be your job to prevent skimming, unless, of course, we do the skimming to hide dollars from the IRS. You will also make all
credit decisions to keep the losers playing. And wait, there is more to come. You will find out soon about a second concept. That is the real ballbuster."

Mason could no longer hold back the smile that creased his face, but to his surprise, the mood of the amiable gentleman before him abruptly changed. Pappy leaned forward; all humanity had vanished from his face. It was as if he had just emerged from Dante's Inferno.

"I want to make one thing absolutely clear." His voice was hard and crisp. Mason looked away, unable to face Pappy's soulless stare. "Never, never ask where the money comes from to get these businesses started. Never ask who I work for. One other thing. Don't ever betray me. I trust you, Mason, but if you breach that honor, I will cut your heart out. Capiche?"

"Capiche," Mason replied meekly, unsure of what he was getting into, feeling like he was struck by a torrential storm.

"Good, now we'll make plans to go to the lawyer's office. Everything will be made clearer, and he will explain the second concept to you."
THE VENGEFUL UNHINGED

MINDS STIR, SILHOUETTES FORM

With the artistry of an architect's hand, Tad Ramsey, holding the pencil almost parallel to the sheet, swirled in a rhythmic series of motions. To Lyle Girard and his partner, Victor Kane, the hazy lines translated into future profits.

Kane broke the casual air; leaning across the drafting table, he barked, "If you're going to rent upper-level apartments, you must have at least forty-five linear feet of closet space, including linen closets, in your three-bedroom units. Damn it, you just don't have it, and we're going to stay here all day until we get it."

Lyle looked up at the taut face of his partner; Victor's pockmarks were accentuated by the overhead light. Lyle knew Victor was right; most often his partner of five years was, but Victor's snarls were hard to put up with. Yet Lyle recognized Victor's effectiveness and his ability to command attention. His unattractiveness was charismatic. Even during their college days, Victor may have lacked for manners and women, but his antenna was always up, fine-tuned to any business deal. When Victor spoke, people accepted his growls. His thought processes were penetrating; he made money in college while others partied.

Ramsey, thin faced and usually patient, drummed his fingers. "You built at this level before and never made that request. What the hell do you want?"
Victor's answer came quickly. "I don't care. We may have skimmed off the market. Now we need a better mousetrap. Times are changing, and tenants are demanding more."

Lyle frowned. As anxious as he was to finish the drawings, how could he argue with his partner if he wanted more closet space? There was always a demand for more, especially when dealing with the upper echelon of society. But where could they find more without increasing the size of the unit and raising costs? The only answer was to eliminate hall space. He rested his arms on the table and hunched forward wearily. After two hours, fuzziness had set in, clouding his ability to think.

Victor pointed his fingers at the special area set aside for a private patio, which extended from the master bedroom. "There's your answer. We could add a closet along this dead wall," he said, as his finger swept the distance, "and encroach into the patio."

Lyle nodded, silently appreciating this new discovery. Yet he felt a slow burn, resenting the fact that he hadn't come up with the idea first. Sure, the light in Victor's head glowed more often with a new solution when they butted up against a stone wall, but putting up with him was dulling his own senses. More and more, he found himself relying on Victor despite his reluctance to do so.

"There, how's that?" Tad asked, the tip of his tongue visible at the corner of his mouth, as the added closet space took shape.

"Pretty good," Lyle said, looking at Victor and receiving an approving nod.
"That should do it," Victor said curtly. "When can you have the drawings ready to present to the neighbors for rezoning approval?" Victor's eyes narrowed and unnecessarily glowered at Ramsey.

"I'll try to have them for you in thirty days," the architect replied in a withdrawn, almost muted manner.

The sun shining through the window upon Victor's back cast an exaggerated shroud upon his oversized head, dwarfing the drawings. Lyle took notice of Ramsey's compliance; the architect would no more object to Victor's overbearing way than kick a gift horse in the mouth. For more than three years now, Tad Ramsey had been the project architect for Cavalier Homes. It was obvious that he would never become accustomed to Victor's abrupt putdowns, but Ramsey never questioned Victor's ability to produce winners. Victor's sense of the market provided his firm with an ample source of fees, filling the coffers of Ramsey, Whitmore, and Hastings, Architects.

Rising slowly to leave, Lyle extended his hand toward Tad. Shaking hands, Tad asked, "Do you expect as fast a lease-up as you did at Rancho West?"

"Obviously, we are hopeful, but our big question is whether to build more three-bedroom apartments. Too bad that we can't build the project in stages, but it doesn't work that way, since it's a rental development. So we've decided to chance it, because it's such a high-level location," Lyle replied.

Victor interjected, "We do plan on running some promotions and plan on renting before we break ground."
Lyle winced, knowing that the decision had already been made. When a decision of Victor's really rubbed him the wrong way, he might work up the nerve to speak out. But this wasn't one of those times—he couldn't argue with Victor's logic on this one.

Lyle often asked himself why he stuck it out with such a difficult partner. Of course, he knew the answer. Victor's business decisions hit the mark about 80 percent of the time. Sure, 20 percent of the time he could be wrong, but who could predict when? Even if he made some mistakes, with Victor's batting average of 80 percent, you won in the long run.

Heading back to the office in the company station wagon, which bore the Cavalier emblem, a knight with raised sword on a white horse, Lyle asked, "So the next order of business is whether we petition for the rezoning on our own, or do we hire David Sherwood to do it for us?"

"Although the project is in the path of apartment development, and a natural for rezoning, I still favor having David handle it; he's very sharp. Rezoning is one of his specialties, and he handles himself very well with neighbors," Victor said in a commanding tone.

It was a bright, sunny Tucson day. Lyle looked north to the Catalina Mountains; the jagged peaks complemented the horizon, set off against a clear blue sky. "Might just buy a new house," he said wistfully. "Karen's raring to decorate a new ranch-style home."

"No one saves anymore," Victor opined, somewhat relaxed now, trying to distance his mind from the business dealings of the
day. Instinctively he added, "But stay on Tad's back. Let's get those plans done. Our option on the land runs out in six months. We have to hustle!"

***

Four months had passed since David had lost Julie. He still couldn't get her out of his mind. He kept visualizing her face, her smile, and the many different times and places they had shared together. He was pushing himself to focus on his work. He still loved her dearly. Every day he felt as if a scalpel had severed a vital part of his body.

Continuing to live in the guesthouse at home, he ambled over for dinner with his parents. His mother, edging toward sixty, was usually very amiable and would always listen patiently to David's laments, but lately she had become irritable. Weight gain gnawed at her sense of self-worth. She had been wearing loose garments for many years, but now her girth was noticeably broadening, so she did the expected and joined Weight Watchers. This changed the household menu considerably, and David's father, who normally enjoyed steak and potatoes, was now confronted with controlled portions of vegetables and fruit that composed the largest portions of the dinner plate.

Frustrated, he remarked to David, trying to maintain his humor, "These menus are no longer growing hair on my chest." They both chuckled, but they decided that Mom was worth it. If calorie counting worked for her, they would go along.
As David was helping with the dishes afterward, his mother, who was trying to be patient, noticed again that David continued to be troubled. She was particularly concerned about his despondency, which was becoming more evident each evening. Hesitatingly, she spoke up. "Have you done any thinking about dating? You seem moody lately. I think maybe you're being too hard on yourself. I think some female companionship would help fill the emptiness that you're feeling right now."

"Mom, I don't even look at girls anymore," he admitted. "I mean, I see them, but nothing registers. I can't stop making comparisons with Julie. I'm so damn torn up."

"Darling, I know it feels like the world is collapsing all around you, but people do break up, hearts do get broken, and though it takes time, they do mend."

"I know you're right. I'm sure I will recover, but right now it seems impossible. Bear with me; I'll survive."

"That's what we do in this family, son; we're survivors. May I suggest something? You're as pale as a ghost. You need some sunshine, a few days away from the office, and probably some time alone. You've always loved the outdoors; why not head up to Mount Lemmon for a day or two? It's so cool and refreshing this time of the year."

"I have some pressing things at the office, but you're right; I'll try to get away. You know, I had been planning to move out, but that was when Julie and I were going to get married. I hope you won't
mind if I stick it out awhile longer in the guesthouse. I simply don't want to go through the hassle of looking for a place to rent or go through the trouble of moving in."

"David, you know that you can stay as long as you like or move whenever you decide. The last thing your dad and I want is to stand in the way of your freedom."

"You know, Mom, I talk to people who complain about all the pressure put on them by their parents. What did I do to deserve you and Dad? Did anyone besides Dad ever tell you that you're super?"

"Well, yes, as a matter of fact. I tell myself that every day." She smiled, suddenly somewhat ashamed of what she said.

He laughed. "You know, Mom, that did it. You finally lost your cool." They both smiled, sharing that special bond that only a mother and son can know and cherish.

***

David entered the law offices of Altman, Silver, and Sherwood just before half-past eight. It was reassuring to see his name on the door, to know that he had been made a full partner. Now going on five years at the firm, he had produced excellent results. Each year he brought in more income; his fees now approached that of each of the senior partners. If the trend continued, he would surpass them.

Bennett Altman's secretary, who was already at her desk, greeted him. "Mr. Sherwood, I'm glad to see somebody else made it
in early. I already have a phone message for you. It's from a gentleman named Lyle Girard."

"Thank you, Beatrice."

Victor, instead of Lyle, picked up on the second ring. "Yeah, Victor Kane here."

"David Sherwood here," he replied, mimicking Victor's curt delivery. Then, realizing that Victor didn't appreciate humor, especially from his lawyer, he recovered quickly. "Hello, Victor. Good morning."

"When can we see you?"

"Tomorrow soon enough? I have a three o'clock appointment, but otherwise my schedule's open."

"Good, let's meet for lunch. Can you come to our offices? That way we can review some plans with you beforehand and then go together in one car to visit the site."

"That would be fine, Victor. How 'bout if I come at eleven thirty a.m.? That should give us more time."

"Affirmed." The click on the line indicated that the conversation had ended.

When David arrived punctually the next day, he was greeted by Lyle, who ushered him into the conference room. Three brown bags from Baggins, a local sandwich eatery, lay on the table. "I know we talked about going out for lunch, but suddenly something has come
up. We want to get everything done with you, so we'll have to shorten our eating time. I hope you don't mind."

"You know me; I don't stand on ceremony. Business is my motivator."

Victor walked in. "I'm hungry; let's eat first, then we can look at the plans." Lyle motioned toward one of the bags. "Knowing your tastes, David, we ordered a turkey sandwich, no mayo, with Swiss cheese on whole-wheat toast, and the cranberries are on the side. We also ordered some coleslaw with light mayo."

Victor had already dug in. Holding his sandwich in one hand, he opened up. "Here's the story. There are four other rental apartment projects within a radius of one mile of the subject property. It's located just off of Camino Miramonte, north of the El Encanto estates. Behind the apartments on both sides of the street are housing complexes. We know we have to notify the neighbors of our intentions. You have made quite clear to us previously that notification is not enough. We must meet with them. That's your job. You have a way with these people, so we will let you have at it. Our plans conform to present zoning trends, so I don't see how we can be turned down. Yet we all know what neighbors are like when they get together. It's the herd mentality. They love to protest. If you ask me, their egos thrive on chewing up developers."

David interjected, "What you say is often true, but we have to prepare for legitimate beefs. I don't foresee any problems with your project; it seems like a natural."
"I can tell you this," Lyle offered. "This will be the nicest project on the street. It will enhance the appearance of the whole neighborhood, and property values will rise."

David asked, "So what objections might the neighbors have?"

"What else?" replied Victor, trying to talk between his teeth, with too much food in his mouth. "Traffic, traffic, traffic. That's all they can bitch about."

David elaborated on the answer. "We have to look at the side-street exits to avoid dumping too much traffic on any one street. Another possible objection might be parking. If you have marginal visitor parking and little on-street parking, then even if the project conforms to the developer trends, there could still be resistance. Also, is there any chance of a parking surplus to help in case there are visitor overloads?"

"No, we maxed out on parking for the residents," said Victor.

David leaned forward, running his finger across the density language in the right-hand corner. "One thing I like about the project is that these are large apartments. That means lower density and fewer cars on and off the site, which is a real plus. So if I have a green light from you, I'll file a petition for rezoning and make arrangements for a meeting with the neighbors. I can't guarantee we'll get their blessing, but in any event, we'll find out if they have any major objections. I recommend that you attend but say very little. I'll introduce you, talk about your background, and point out that you have had considerable experience developing upper-end projects in
the past. But I suggest that after you play nice and welcome the opportunity to become their neighbor, you say little else. It's better that I absorb the flak, if any follows."

"Sounds like a plan," Victor said, showing the glimmer of a smile, apparently pleased with what he heard from David, though he made it a habit to withhold compliments.

"You're on target, my friend," said Lyle, who was more encouraging.
THE VENGEFUL UNHINGED

NOT AS IT APPEARS TO BE

Henderson, Nevada, in 1965 was a sleepy town with an average population in the neighborhood of fourteen thousand, located about sixteen miles from Las Vegas. Compared to its flamboyant neighbor, with all of its glitter, activity, and characters from all walks of life who roamed its streets, some of whom had unsavory reputations for which there was no saving grace, Henderson, by comparison, was a wallflower at the dance, with two left feet.

It was there in Henderson that Gino Angelo maintained his law practice with his compliant partners, Stuart Abbott and Gordon Hayes. Unlike other firms, Gino had only one client, or perhaps it was more appropriate to say he provided services for a well-indoctrinated, like-minded group as if they were a single client, the sort that carried weapons. True, in their line of business, they needed to arm themselves for protection, but it was not uncommon to see one of them flash his weapon as a badge of courage.

Abbott and Hayes knew none of Gino's clients, and they didn't want to know them. Maintaining a blind eye bought safety, while big bucks flowed through the doors of Abbott, Hayes, and Angelo. Not only did Abbott and Hayes not know these clients, but they had never met or seen any of them. Gino's clients always entered through two heavily secured doors at the rear of his offices, which led down a darkened walkway that led directly to Gino's inner sanctum. They always arrived in a rented car driven by a trusted driver who was
under strict instructions to keep his mouth shut. The driver never even knew the identity of his passengers, who wore disguises or facial masks. After their meeting, the clients would leave down the same darkened walkway in a different rented car driven by a different driver, who had received the same instructions.

One rumor had it that Gino was working for Sam Giancana. Others suspected that his client was Meyer Lansky, a former partner of Lucky Luciano. Luciano had since passed away, and Lansky was continuing to build the National Crime Syndicate into a nationwide organization. These were merely rumors, however, no one knew for certain whom Gino worked for. Even the FBI, who kept a watchful eye on Gino's law practice, could not determine who his higher-ups were.

Pappy, who took his instructions from Gino, never entered through the rear door, and like Gino's law partners, never met with Gino's undisclosed clients. Abbott and Hayes each had a few corporate clients, but for the most part, both lawyers did the transactional work for Gino's clients. The names they received were not the real names of his clients, and they knew it. They were the front men, consisting for the most part of managers and other heavies working in the hotels and casinos who did as they were told and signed when and where they were told.

The small retail storefront that housed their offices blended in seamlessly with Henderson's general appearance, but the flow of dollars that poured in from Gino's clients could be measured only in Las Vegas terms. If the information were actually available, which
would never happen, the funds flowing through this storefront probably would account for half of the town of Henderson's entire economy, or more.

When Pappy and Mason entered the building from the front, it appeared to be an unoccupied retail store. Its storefront windows were empty. The only signs of apparent life were two small bronze plates on the front door, one that bore the markings "Abbott, Hayes, and Angelo," and below that, another plate that read, "By Appointment Only." Nothing gave any indication that the place was a law office. The door was locked. There was a small doorbell on the right doorframe. Pappy rang it twice, waited a moment or two, and then rang three more times.

An apparition opened the door. Before them with a broad smile was an imposing young woman who no doubt stood six feet four inches tall in stocking feet. She had the broad shoulders of a male athlete. She wore a man's suit with a yellow bow tie speckled with a few green dots.

"Pappy!" she warmly exclaimed. Quickly moving forward, she gave him a big hug, saying, "It's always good to see you." Turning to her left, she looked down from her lofty perch at Mason, who felt even smaller in her presence, and asked, "And who do I have the pleasure of meeting?"

Mason could only grope for words in the presence of this towering figure before him, who, strangely enough, warmed his heart.
Her charm and beauty, like bubbling spring water, instantly captivated him.

"Hi, I'm Mason," he managed to answer meekly. He had never before been so quickly overwhelmed by a woman's strange effect upon him. At the same time, he never before so thoroughly enjoyed meeting someone with such appeal. It was as if someone had suddenly waved a magic wand and she appeared. He knew that was fanciful thinking, but nonetheless, he had no other answer for her sudden entrance into his life, nor had he any idea how significant a part she would play in it.

Pappy, instinctively realizing that cross currents were being exchanged, interposed. "Ronnie, this young man will soon be one of the most successful nightclub entrepreneurs in Las Vegas. That's what we're here to see Gino about."

"Well, I'm impressed." She extended her hand to Mason, and as he responded in kind, she clasped his outstretched arm with both hands, sending spirals up his spine. Then came the real shocker. To Mason's disbelief she winked wickedly at him. "Do come into Gino's parlor, or should I say, welcome to that ole European feeling." Her voice was soft and demure.

Knowing that Pappy had been to the office before, Mason tried to act nonchalant, but inwardly he was overwhelmed by the lavish decor. The place resembled a museum more than an office. The floors were hardwood and covered in oriental rugs; the room was adorned in antique furniture that dated back three centuries or more.
Much of the artwork that hung on the walls appeared to be the work of the old masters. Silver and gold pieces bedecked the furniture together with several tastefully placed fine sculptures, a few of which were missing a limb or a body part. The overall effect was breathtaking.

"Very impressive. I am more of a modern type, but I always appreciate it when somebody does something well." Mason spoke up, having regained his sense of self.

Ronnie smiled as she sat behind the highly polished wooden desk, which had no doubt once belonged to a nobleman or another member of an aristocratic family. "We are going to get along just fine, Mason. Most people when they first see this office don't dare venture their own opinion. They just praise it to the high heavens. I often wonder if they mean it. I appreciate that you called it straight on as you saw it. Anyway, I know you're here to see the boss man. He is expecting you. Let me ring him up."

Pappy and Mason sat down as Ronnie had a brief conversation with Gino. Welcoming the private moment, Mason recalled the first time, as a small boy, he had sat in the regal splendor of a lawyer's office. As his memory unfolded, he recalled a visit that had been the trigger, the precise time that Mason had decided to become a lawyer, though he had now lost his license like a damn fool. He had figured then that it was the lawyers who knew the angles, the tricks it took to be a step ahead of the next guy. The shrewdness that he had developed, and Pappy recognized within him during their times
together, while playing poker and while socializing with each other, was certainly one of the reasons that Pappy had chosen him to spearhead their nightclub operation.

Suddenly, it flashed through Mason's mind that at last, he might be on a hot streak. There was no doubt that big, big money lay ahead. He was also convinced that somehow Ronnie, who dwarfed him in size, was going to play a significant part in his life, as difficult as that was to believe. He wondered, was he fooling himself?

A small green light illumined on the door leading to Gino's office. Ronnie pushed a button underneath her desk, and another green button flashed as the door opened.

Pleasant looking, but rather plain and slight in stature, Gino appeared before them. He certainly would not stand out in a crowd. Certain details in his appearance, however, were distinctive, if not conspicuous. Gino's teeth were white, capped, and shiny. His nails were perfectly manicured. His elevated wing tip black shoes were polished to a high sheen. He wore a custom-made navy-blue suit, with a white-on-white shirt and a thin-striped tie in tasteful shades of red and blue. Mason cast a sideways glance at Pappy, who was wearing, apart from a slightly different patterned tie, the very same attire. Interesting, he thought. Which tail is following which horse? Obviously, he was out of character, in his gray glen plaid suit.

"Pappy, Mason, glad you could make it," came the friendly greeting in a high-pitched voice, which seemed weak and a departure from his reputation, which bore shades of notoriety. From all that
Mason had gathered, this was the man, who wielded absolute, raw power, although his appearance detracted from his reputation.

Set forth before them as they entered Gino's office was an extension of the decor in the reception room—nothing less than old Europe revisited. Pappy and Mason both sat down in chairs so large and set so high that Mason's feet could not touch the floor. As he moved to lean back, he found that he could not span the depth of the large seat. He soon realized that he would have to rely on the two huge, hand-carved wooden armrests for support.

"Gentlemen," Gino began, "we have a great deal to talk about. This will be a long but very productive meeting. As I proceed, if you have a question, please ask it. I don't want you to have concerns, worries, or uncertainties in your minds without answers."

Gino focused his gaze directly on Mason. "I don't mean to be rude, but this will be the only meeting we will have. It is important that we have a clear understanding before we go forward. Pappy works in the capacity of a field general for me. He will be seeing you on a regular basis. That doesn't mean that I don't welcome new ideas, and if you have any, or if you object to a procedure, please feel free to voice your opinion to Pappy. As you know, we are going to engage in two different operations. The first you have already briefly talked about with Pappy. Suffice it to say that we are going to open up two or three nightclubs for the common workingman. In a few days, you will be introduced to your mentor, Claude Verdugo, who will put you through a training course that will span four months; you'll be
expected to work six days a week. So best you postpone thoughts of playing poker for a while. However, once you start working with Claude, you'll start receiving your base pay of one hundred thousand dollars, with more to come later. There are substantial profits to be made, and both of you shall share in them."

Mason raised a finger to catch Gino's attention. "What part will Claude play once operations begin?"

"Good question. You will be the overall manager, or shall I say boss, of both concepts that I will discuss with you. Claude will be your operations manager of both, although he will be glad to consult with you on all matters."

Gino paused. "Mason, I will say one other thing about Claude. You are new to our operation. Although Claude will be working under you, he will be keeping an eye on you. That is strictly a precaution that we establish with all new people."

Mason asserted himself. "That's fine. I understand, and I think it is a good way to do business. I appreciate that you told me about it first."

"Good. Claude is tough minded and a strong operations man, but he is not a big-picture guy. That's where you come in. He will teach you the operations, because that's something you need to know, but you're the guy in charge of the money. You make all the decisions. You decide when to advertise, when to expand or contract, which customers receive credit, and like matters."
"I get the idea."

"All of the training that you receive will also be applicable to the second concept, which I will explain to you shortly."

Pappy interjected, "I know the second concept will be our jackpot. Wouldn't it be better, once we get rolling, that Mason devote all his time just to the second concept?"

"A good question, and I'll answer it this way. Although the second concept is the big money play, it's not the big operational play. It's actually an easier operation, much more important, and involves bigger dollars."

Gino turned to Mason. Although Gino's general appearance was placid, Mason felt something foreboding about the way he said things. Was it because Gino's bosses had hammers and took no prisoners? Perhaps it was Gino's eyes; he never looked quite straight at you, which Mason the poker player instinctively defined as shifty. When Gino did look up, Mason perceived that his eyeballs were merely an entrance into a vast, empty abyss. Fear began to crowd his thoughts.

"If we do it right, and Mason, if you run it right, there is a lot of money to be made," Gino continued. "I will now explore the second concept with you, one that I believe no one else in the country has ever set up. I'm not even sure it has ever been tried anywhere in the world."
Mason looked at Pappy; he could see that Pappy was totally enthralled. Pappy's eyes remained steadfast, unblinking, and totally focused on Gino. Gino took out a package of cigarettes. "I smoke Camels. I know the two of you like stogies. I have a special stash that you might like, imported direct from Turkey."

That invitation required no reply. Gino arose and went to a two-door cabinet that bore hand paintings of a man and a woman facing each other while dressed in the colorful clothing of traveling gypsies. He produced an original box from yesteryear also artfully painted with colorful flowers. Within it were rows of cigars wrapped in silver and gold, with an imprint on the wrapper bearing: Special Formulation forGino Angelo. Eagerly, the men each took one, refraining from theurge to take more; they lit up and sat back comfortably. Still, Mason's uneasiness persisted. The weight of the responsibility that he would bear was beginning to grab hold of his innards.

Gino began to expound. "Since World War II ended close to twenty years ago, the Japanese have been very resourceful. They are a very dedicated people possessing an unusual ability to organize companies, and they have already demonstrated that they manufacture quality automotive products. Electronics are the next field they are jumping into. They are still a small percentage of that marketplace but expect to make rapid progress. Already, giants of industry have emerged in Japan, and with that success, vast personal wealth has been accumulated."
He paused. "Incidentally, if either of you wants to ever take a break, please let me know. We have a lot of ground to cover, and I want you to be comfortable."

Neither man responded. Gino then said, "I will go on, then. The Japanese work hard and they play hard, and they have made a new discovery—gambling. Some of them have already become compulsive gamblers, and of course, big losers. These are the kind of customers we covet. Others play the games according to the percentages, which is the smart way to play. They generally lose too, but it takes longer, and they lose less. Those who have recently discovered Las Vegas now love it. They prefer it over Monte Carlo and other gambling meccas.

"Here's where we come in. Coming to this country offers them another attraction in addition to gambling. It's the safest place on earth to invest money. Our currency is stable. The Japanese especially like our real estate, notably our blue-chip office buildings in New York, Los Angeles, and Chicago, and occasionally luxury hotels, primarily in New York."

Gino extracted a photo album from his desk. "I'm going to show you some photos of some key Japanese industrialists. You are to memorize their names and faces, read through the short bios, and then in twenty-four hours destroy this book. I don't mean throw it away in the garbage. I mean burn it."

Gino aimed his attention directly at Mason, noticeably drawn to his dwarfed presence sitting within the massive chair. "We purposely
chose you, Mason, to supervise all the businesses, because you have no experience. We think that's a positive, because you'll do things our way, and, I might add, only our way.

"You will find that Claude will be an excellent mentor to you, and he will serve at your beck and call." He handed Mason a folder. "Take this with you. It contains the background information on Claude. He will train you intensely and then hire proven operators as managers who will work for you. They will understand that you will be the boss and that you, in turn, work with Pappy as a partner. They will probably sense that I'm also involved, but they will not know for sure. They will be under strict instructions. For some of them, it will be hard to understand that, while being only recently trained, you would assume a position of authority over them. But it's not much different than when a boss's son is brought in to run a business. You see, Mason, not only has Pappy been, shall we say, studying you for the past year, but so have I. Believe it or not, one of the reasons you have been selected is because you are short. Strange as that may seem, we think it's an advantage when working with the Japanese, who are a very small people."

Gino took a few moments to sort through some files. He selected one and spoke while holding on to it. "You see, Mason, generally the lugs we hire are big and strong, but they have limited education. They are the floor walkers and the craps managers in the casinos. Even the managers of the restaurants, who are generally more sophisticated, are not well rounded. They don't consider themselves casino operators, nor even want to have anything to do
with the casinos. They don't know or understand the art of adapting to a foreign culture. This is especially true in the case of the Japanese, and while they like to make money as much as we do, they are fundamentally different from us. You fill the vacant slot perfectly. As a poker player, you know what it is to be patient and talk quietly."

Mason glanced at the picture on the office table behind him. It was a frameless picture, apparently of Gino's wife and two children. The wife was about the same age as Gino, but she appeared matronly, and her face lacked the slightest glimmer of a smile. She was, no doubt, the typical wife of a Las Vegas boss, who allowed her husband to make all the decisions, knew very little about his business, and was happy to raise the children, maintain an orderly home, and prepare delicious pasta dishes. As was typical, if her husband were to have an affair and she were to find out, she would say nothing, accept it for what it was, and remain loyal, and of course, faithful.

"Gentlemen, allow me to digress for a moment. I will give you a very short synopsis of how I work. Do I work for others? The answer is yes and sometimes maybe. As for who those superiors might be, it is better that you don't know, and I assure you that you won't find out. You know that I have a hand running various Las Vegas operations, including many of the hotels. I'm not going to say that I run everything, but I do want you to know that what I do is extensive. Pappy is one of my field directors. He will furnish instructions to you, primarily dealing with policy issues, financing issues, and other big-
picture subjects; we will seldom involve ourselves in operations management."

"Are all my meetings out in the open, or do I have secret meetings also with Mason?" asked Pappy.

"Since the operational statement of the corporation will be a document of record on file with the state, and since it will establish that you are equal owners, it only makes sense that you will have multiple open meetings with Mason. However, there are some very confidential subjects, such as the underground cavity, which I will discuss with you, and some other similar topics, which I would urge you to talk to Mason about only in a clandestine setting. I will always let you know when I think you and Mason should slip away to avoid people, and who knows, maybe to avoid listening devices.

"Before I get into detail, how about a cocktail and some lunch? Since we are to become associated together, a little relaxation time should be helpful. I'm enjoying this discussion, especially since I'm doing all the talking," Gino said with a smile that hinted of restraint.

Gino picked up the phone and dialed Ronnie's office extension. "Ronnie, dear, please surprise us with three sandwiches, and I don't mean fast food. Deli would be nice. Call either the Dunes or Caesars; those are my favorites. They will deliver for us. We will all take a cocktail. I will have a Jack Daniel's Black on the rocks." Looking up, he asked, "What would you like?"

"I'll have the same," Pappy replied amiably.
They both looked at Mason. "I haven't had a drink since I started playing poker seriously. However, since I'm in such good company, I think I will go on a one-day holiday. I'd like a beer. Please have Ronnie decide on the selection." Their orders were placed.

Gino took a huge drag on his cigarette and stubbed it out. "All right, let's now go on. This second concept is the one that makes me want to wet my pants. As you entered the building today, you saw a very common, modest storefront, totally lacking in appeal. That was by design. We do not seek law business off the street. It is strictly by appointment to a select clientele only. We want to be as inconspicuous as we can. Yet when you were welcomed inside, I'm sure that the opulence surprised you. Perhaps the decor is not your style, but nonetheless, it is the right feel for the clients I serve. The idea came to me when I visited the San Simeon Castle in California, the brainchild of William Randolph Hearst. He flew trainloads of European furniture by aircraft to the site where he built a home. In fact, we purchased a few excess pieces of his that he was preparing to put in storage."

Gino stopped for a minute. "Any questions so far, gentlemen?" Pappy and Mason sat mute, hungry for Gino to go on.

"All right then, I will move on. We will replicate the drab outside appearance of this office with the design of the Desert Club. It will be strictly bare bones. The only showing of life on the exterior of the building shall be two nameplates. The top one shall read 'Desert Club,' and below it, 'Private.' The interiors, on the other hand, will
feature designer selections with special emphasis on oriental designs, but considerably more modernistic than is generally seen in Japan. It will consist of a large, rounded reception area with a private concierge sitting at a circular desk. Aside from guest seating, there will be no other furniture in the room. There will be one or two paintings of original oriental art in low, indirect lighting. There will be two interior doors. Each door will lead to a private, very exclusive gambling parlor. Within each parlor there will be a well-stocked bar, with finger food, gourmet sandwiches, snacks, exotic candies, and related items on display. The concierge will act as host and also serve meals. Hot meals will be available upon request. One room will be set up for either a craps table or a roulette table, or both. The second room will be set up for either baccarat or blackjack, or both. Only those invited to play, accompanied by no more than two friends or family members who are preregistered and fully understand the nondisclosure rules, will be allowed. We will only admit guests from a foreign country, primarily Japan. The minimum bet will be ten thousand dollars per roll of the dice or per card game. The upper limit for each bet will be fifty thousand dollars. Those kinds of big bets can only be placed in a very private setting. To do so in the usual public atmosphere of a gambling parlor would be too conspicuous, and it would target our clientele to some hardhearted, nefarious souls looking for prey."

Gino smiled to himself as he looked at his guests. Their eyes said it all. "Actually, gentlemen, although our guests love Las Vegas and love the action, there is another reason that makes our concept
very attractive to moneyed people from abroad. Although we are starting out with our primary focus on building a Japanese clientele, we intend to expand to other Asian nationalities as well within three to five years. As I mentioned, our guests want to gamble in our backyard, but just as importantly, they also want to bring huge sums of money into this country and park them here—and this, I think, is the biggest motivation of all." Gino looked at his watch. "Gentlemen, you have been very patient; let's take a break before lunch."

As Mason sauntered toward the men's room, Pappy held back to talk about another deal with Gino. Mason's thoughts raced with a mixture of anxiety, excitement, worry, and puzzlement. He couldn't help but ask himself, What am I getting myself into? I can feel it. Iknow there's great risk to this. I know that I would be playing with the big boys, and the potential to rake in a small fortune is tremendous. The question is, should I pull out? Yet Mason knew in his heart thatthough he would reexamine the same issue a dozen times and ask the same questions over and over, he would end up going for it. This sounded like the chance of a lifetime. He had to run with it.

Before Pappy and Mason were seated, Gino resumed. "There are many reasons why the big hitters from Japan, and eventually from other Asian countries, want to bring highly valued, unreported, hidden assets over here, usually in the form of cash and loose jewelry. But let me make it perfectly clear, gentlemen: this is called money laundering. Plain and simple, it is against the law. Now is the time if either one of you wants to back out. You will be the front men, and you will be the most exposed."
Gino looked at each of their faces. He went from one to the other. He was keenly interested in whether they had the balls to go forward. They did not respond. Now comfortable, he decided to proceed.

"As I mentioned, foreign investors are particularly attracted to buying major office buildings, primarily in New York, Chicago, and Los Angeles. A few will desire to open up or buy a business; others will play it safe and just hoard cash. I don't expect any of them to invest in the stock market. Whatever their reason, when they bring big money in, they bet big, and of course, this is what we want. Placing big bets excites them. What am I talking about? I mentioned a minimum bet of ten thousand dollars per roll of the dice or per hand of baccarat or blackjack. Keep in mind, that's per roll or per hand. It can quickly add up, especially in craps, if it's a long roll. If they make the usual number of side bets in a long roll, hell, they could easily have one hundred thousand dollars on the line in one game, which would take no longer than ten minutes. If their usual bet is twenty-five thousand dollars, it could add up to three hundred thousand or more per game. As for baccarat or blackjack, each of which is a fast game, especially in the hands of our dealers, they could easily lose fifty thousand to one hundred thousand dollars or more in one hour. Yes, I realize we could lose that much in an hour also, but since they will usually play for at least five hours, the odds favor us to come out ahead, since the percentages over the long haul are in our favor."

His face suddenly broke out in a broad grin, which was unusual because his style was to hold back. "This game of playing Monopoly,
but for real, is great fun. I can't help but laugh. I do want to caution you, however, that everything I say must be held in the strictest of confidence. Let me be even more specific. You two are going to have your asses on the line. You are the public figures. It's to your advantage that you keep absolutely quiet about this. Believe me, and I want to emphasize this point, I will not come to your rescue. Don't screw up."

The phone rang softly. Gino said, "That must be lunch." He picked up the receiver. "Yes, Ronnie." He nodded his head. "That will be fine; have James bring them in." The office door slid open, and James, well groomed, dressed in a fine, custom-tailored, dark suit, with an air of poise and charm that exceeded menial duties, entered the room. The food for each of them rested on three separate small tables on wheels. James set up one in front of each guest and in front of Gino.

He then said to Mason, "Mr. Grewe, I hope you won't be offended, but I have a suggestion for you."

Mason looked up, rather puzzled. "Sure, go ahead." "May I offer you a smaller chair?"

Somewhat embarrassed, Mason mumbled, "You might as well. The kings and queens who sat in them either had big asses or were just plain stupid."

They all laughed, especially Mason, who usually found humor awkward and refrained from it.
James pushed on a panel flush with the wall to produce a door that slid open and pulled out a small folding chair for Mason.

The three men began to hurriedly devour their food. Huge, hot pastrami sandwiches swimming in melted cheese, in portion sizes commonly found in a New York deli, delighted them. Gino stopped for a moment, wiped the corner of his mouth, and said, "Allow me to continue while we enjoy this robust lunch. Incidentally, as a digression, in case you were wondering, we heated the sandwiches after they were delivered before serving them. We do make it a point to think of everything." Both Pappy and Mason nodded affirmatively in appreciation.

"In case you have been asking, how are the vast sums to be transported into this country, and how will customs be avoided? It will all be arranged through private aircraft that land at a rural landing field operated by owners who are on the take. All flight records will either go unrecorded or will be falsified. Upon arrival, the client will park the money and other valuables with us in our underground vaults. That is what is going to make the Desert Club so successful."

Gino pointed a finger directly at Mason. "You, Mason, are going to be the only one in charge of those vaults. Only you will accompany the clients bringing contents into the vaults and will be on hand to supervise all withdrawals. Let me explain the procedure. There shall be two sets of keys with different locking mechanisms. The client shall have one set. There shall also be two combination locks; the client shall be the only one that knows one of the combinations. Then
there shall be a security code; only the client shall know that code. Once these security measures are met, the lockbox shall be opened, and the client shall remove the interior box alone. Then he shall put in or take out a portion or all of the contents within the lockbox, according to his needs. Only if you are sick, or you have another very legitimate excuse, and I mean legitimate, will someone else open those vaults."

He nodded to Pappy. "That's you, Pappy. To gain access to the underground cavity below the Desert Club will require a sixteen-digit entrance code. Only you two will know that entrance code, which you shall memorize. Similarly, you will memorize a different sixteen-digit code for entering the next interior space. The only one that will ever go with you into the cavity will be our single client." Gino picked up the receiver. "I see you're almost through with lunch." Gino called Ronnie over the intercom. "Ronnie, bring in the dessert."

Ronnie entered with the dessert on a hand-carried tray, which she handled easily and professionally, as if she were a waitress in a restaurant. The dessert was a creative concoction, consisting of three concentric circles. The outer circle contained chocolate fudge cake; the middle held caramel-covered strawberries; and in the center was a heaping portion of butter pecan ice cream. She handed one of these out to each, saying nothing. She did not look in Mason's direction. It didn't matter. Mason was not offended. He understood that what they had exchanged between them in the reception room was a breach of formality that Gino would never accept.
"I might point out to you that the dessert that you see before you is one of Ronnie's creative designs formulated in conjunction with a gourmet pastry chef. We always make it a point to serve an imaginative dessert to our guests."

All eyes now focused on the spectacular treat before them. Mason looked up at Gino, knowing that he was pleased but aware that if someone crossed him, he could just as easily become displeased—and quickly. Mason said, "I know I will never see you again, but I just want you to know that I will not disappoint you. I will carry out your instructions to the letter."

In a surprisingly pleasant tone, Gino replied, "I don't expect you to be a robot. You're the man on the job. If you ever have a better idea, say it. Tell Pappy. The word will get back to me. I'll try to go along. If I don't, or I can't, I'll let you know. That's just good business. I also expect you to have a lot of questions. Claude will be available to help with operations, but he will not know about the underground vaults at the Desert Club. He will not enter the elevators, and he knows, without having to be told, that he is not to ask any questions.

"Now, gentlemen, let me close out the meeting with one or two other major points that you must understand. Once again, we will never talk about this to third parties. We will run an absolutely clean house; spotters will be posted in the ceiling looking for any sleight of hand or false carding. The Nevada Gaming Commission monitors all operations. More and more of the casinos play the game legitimately.
They make so much money legitimately that it isn't worth the risk of losing their license.

"I know that this has been a long meeting. I won't go into detail now, but we will arrange for the winnings we make at the Desert Club to be paid to us out of this country by bank money transfer. We will have special accounts set up abroad. When we decide to bring funds into this country, we shall instruct our professional couriers to do so. All monies that are brought in will be divided up between us privately. As for income-tax reporting, we will retain modest profits in Nevada to show legitimacy and pay our taxes based upon the amount that we decide to report. To the authorities we will appear as a private gambling parlor with an exclusive clientele. As I mentioned earlier, the underground vault will remain the same. I might add that all the money made at the nightclubs will be reported."

Gino paused, seemed to hesitate, and then spoke. "I don't wish to be high handed with you. I hope you understand that although legally you will be the two, fifty-percent owners of the two nightclubs and the Desert Club, you actually will divide up thirty percent, or fifteen percent of the profits to each of you. The other seventy percent will belong to me and my associates, who will furnish the funds to build the nightclubs and the Desert Club and shall furnish all the initial capital. There will be nothing on paper establishing our seventy-percent participation. There will be no evidence that I have anything to do with it. In fact, all of our understandings will be oral.
"To end on a very positive note, I am happy to report we already have five clients lined up for the Desert Club's opening. We will try to stagger their arrivals so that we have time to get organized and begin to function smoothly."

Gino looked at his guests, who appeared to be growing somewhat weary, which he understood. Although he was sure they liked what they heard, they had a lot to absorb, and he knew they were concentrating hard. Gino donned his reading glasses. As a closing thought to impress his visitors, he said, "We expect in the first year to gross twenty million dollars and that the net profits will be four million dollars; therefore, you two will divide one million two hundred thousand dollars, or make six hundred thousand dollars apiece." Then, with his eyes focused on Mason, he said, "Mason, that division of profits shall be in addition to your base salary of one hundred thousand dollars.

"Pappy, you and I will meet periodically in a semiprivate or out-of-the-way location. I no longer want to meet you here because you are now an owner of record. In fact, it's probably best that all future meetings between us are held in secret. I have some places in mind for us to meet. I will discuss this with you later." He looked at Mason. "Mason, for purposes of safety, I don't want you to know where Pappy and I will carry on our future meetings."

"I understand."

"And Pappy, I might add, you are to always wear gloves when you come to our meetings. From time to time, I will give you
instructions in writing. No fingerprints may show on the paper, and once you finish reading it, you are to burn it. I will call you tomorrow to discuss where we shall carry on future meetings."

Mason asked, "Do you have a name for the first nightclub?"

"Come to think of it, I haven't even thought about it. Why, do you have something to offer?"

"I was thinking of Moon Glow. I think it has a nice ring to it."

"By God, I think you've got something there. I agree, I think that would appeal to the common man. It does have a ring to it."

Pappy grinned. "I think we have the right man. Already, he's thinking."

"I have another idea," Mason volunteered, having gained some confidence. "I plan on taking a starter course in Japanese to learn some of the basics of the language. I think that the clients will appreciate that even if they speak English."

Gino and Pappy looked at each other. Their nodding agreement expressed their feelings; they had the right guy.

Gino arose, knowing that what he had just reviewed with them would be reviewed again many times over. "Gentlemen," he said as cheerfully as he would allow, "Moon Glow it is, and the meeting is now adjourned."

Mason and Pappy shook hands with Gino at the door to his office. It was apparent that he would not be accompanying them
down the corridor and into the reception area. Mason said, "Gino, it was a real pleasure to meet you. I look forward to doing business with you even though we shall not see each other again."

Pappy concluded all remarks by saying, "Gino, you indeed are a brilliant man. You think of everything."

As the two men turned to leave, Gino placed a cigar in each of their lapels. "One for the road and one for our joint success."

The two men smiled, turned, and walked silently down the corridor and out into the reception area. They were greeted by Ronnie, who escorted them to the door. She gave Pappy another hug and extended her hand warmly to Mason. As she did so, Mason, to his surprise, became aware of a small, single-folded paper in her hand. He quickly curled his fingers, closing his hand around it, and put the paper in his pocket. In a matter-of-fact, businesslike manner, he said, "Good-bye, Ronnie."

After Pappy dropped Mason off at his car, Mason quickly entered his vehicle, sat back, and opened his clenched hand, still holding Ronnie's note. It read:

"Call me in the evening or on weekends. My private line at home is 702-658-1412.

Love, Ronnie"
THE VENGEFUL UNHINGED

A NEW STAR IS BORN

David arrived at the office at his usual half past eight. His new and very competent secretary, Louise, was already diligently typing. A woman in her forties, she was pleasant looking and neatly dressed, and behind her rimless glasses sat an intelligent and judicious woman. Louise had that rare knack of anticipating what David had on his mind, and often surprised him by completing a task before he asked for it.

His first secretary, Nancy, was also intelligent. When she began working for David, she had been very efficient, but that had changed; she became the victim of her own quick bursts of temper, and she could be rude to clients. She had known better; she tried her best to adhere to the maxim "The customer is always right," but sometimes she just couldn't seem to control herself. David tried to ignore her disturbing mannerisms as best as he could, but when Nancy's eyesight started to fail and she began to make errors, this in turn slowed her efficiency and accelerated her temper. Nancy took note of David's one-too-many frowns until finally she burst into his office and quit on the spot.

Thinking back, David was disappointed in himself; he hadn't had the courage to discharge her. His concern for her future had held him back. Her husband was disabled, and he knew that they did not have much in the way of savings. While recognizing that you can't always be responsible for other people when you're running a
business, he still labeled himself cowardly. His senior partners, Bennett Altman and Arthur Silver, actually applauded when they were told of her leaving, which only reinforced what he thought of the episode.

"And a good morning to you," he easily greeted Louise. He felt good once he arrived in the office and could immerse himself in his work, setting aside his longing for Julie. The prior month had been a good one for the firm financially. His clients seemed pleased. He liked the practice of law. What could be better?

"Good morning, Mr. Sherwood. I do have one message for you. Bart Langley called. I believe he is a fellow lawyer."

"That's a surprise," he quickly replied. "I haven't seen Bart since we lagged pennies, napped during boring lectures, and exchanged jokes about our law professors. Thanks, Louise. I'll call him right back."

David's thoughts raced as he entered his office. How well he remembered Bart Langley. He was "the man" who had everything— wealth, good looks, and a bearing that communicated self-confidence. The fact that his father was a senior partner in one of the top law firms gave him another advantage, and as expected, the firm had welcomed Bart as an associate upon his graduation. "Talk about silver spoons, Bart munches on them," David muttered half aloud. David didn't know too much about Bart's personal life, but he did recall that he had been quite the party boy and one of the worst students.
Bart had continually amazed his fellow students. Three weeks before the end of each semester, when everybody was studying intensely for finals, he would give up booze, go absolutely dry, pay the top students to allow him to copy their notes, and begin to study with a fiendish self-imposed will. Often he would meet with one of his student patrons, when he was confronted with a particularly perplexing issue, and pepper him or her with questions until he resolved the problem. Damned if it hadn't worked! He had passed every time. Granted, his grades had been average, but once you graduate, clients don't ask you about your grade point average.

So now, David pondered: For what reason would Bart becalling me? We have no clients in common. Puzzled, he quicklycalled the number written on the pink slip. A pleasant voice answered, "Good morning, Baxter, Langley, Winover, and Forbes; how may I direct your call?"

"Mr. Langley, please. I mean, Langley Junior, that is. Please tell him that David Sherwood is returning his call," he said politely.

The voice on the other end couldn't have been more cordial. "David, how the hell are you? I haven't seen you since I started wearing ties every day. I thought it would be nice to play catch-up. How about lunch? Incidentally, I do not want to talk law with you, but I do have something on my mind that touches on it. I'll tell you what it is when I see you."

Caught off guard, David managed to say, "Sure, Bart, where and when? I'm open next Monday."
"That'll be fine. It'll be good to see you again."

"I can't imagine what you have on your mind." David's tone displayed his curiosity.

"Let's meet at the Mountain Oyster Club at noon straight up. It will be quiet, and we can cover a lot of ground."

***

The Mountain Oyster Club was established in the late forties in the Santa Rita Hotel. The private, members-only club was dedicated to the preservation of the Southwestern heritage of the Old Pueblo, Tucson's traditional namesake. Western art, much of it high priced, decorated every wall in the multi-room establishment, to the great pleasure of the club's members. In its early days, this membership consisted of pioneer stock rooted in Arizona, including ranchers, wranglers, farmers, horsemen, and others who worked in and around livestock. Western hats, clasped shirts, faded jeans, frayed boots, and occasionally chaps were common attire. Nowadays, business suits were more the convention, particularly at lunch, as lawyers and executives dined there amid the confines of the Western way of life.

When they were comfortably seated after exchanging bear hugs, they began to reminisce about the "grabs on your freedom" imposed in law school.

Anxious to talk about what he had on his mind, Bart soon switched gears, becoming serious. "I like the practice of law, but it doesn't fully satisfy me. I need something more. Working in a large
law office, or should I say in a procedure-filled organization, is less than fulfilling. I don't want to sound mushy, but I'm thinking of going into public service. There is a slot open for county attorney. As the chief prosecutor of criminal cases, I have an idea of what it would be like. I'm doing trial work now for the firm, and it's the one area I like. I've been on the litigation team from the get-go and have gained considerable experience. I work alongside our top men, who are very skillful in the courtroom."

The waiter appeared, attired in a large Western hat, which dwarfed his small features, and a green apron with a large bull's head on its face partially covered his all-leather outfit. "Gentlemen, have you made a selection?"

Caught unaware, his menu unopened, David asked, "What are your specials for the day?"

"We do not offer daily specials, but I can recommend the most popular dish in the house, a true specialty dish. It's a healthy portion of well-cooked grilled salmon, lightly seasoned in olive oil with sprinkles of grated cheese and honey-baked pecans. It comes with a baked potato with seven different toppings to choose from, as well as green beans glazed in a combination of mint and ginger."

Bart said, "That sounds wonderful. Surprise me with three toppings on the potato."

David nodded his assent, and the waiter scurried off, oiled stirrups whirling.
Jumping back to the previous topic, David said, "I think politics is both interesting and a lot of drudgery. Politicians are like animals; they're always hungry. Raising funds feeds them, which gets mighty tiresome. The part I do like is the parry and thrust between opposing candidates."

"David, that's what I'm here to talk to you about. I think you and I think along the same lines politically. We're moderates. Moderates are found in both parties. It's the extremists on both sides of the aisle that are a concern. The Independents try to organize to cover the gap, but they don't make any headway in an election," Bart said with a showing of wry humor. "I know that sounds strange coming from a member of a law firm that is politically very conservative. My father and I agreed a long time ago not to discuss politics. However, I did talk to him about running for CA. Believe it or not, he was delighted. I think he always harbored a secret desire to toss his hat into the arena. The surprising thing is that he says he can support me, because the county attorney has little to do with party affiliations. It's really just a matter of bringing the bad guys to justice."

David added, "Now that I think back, I remember how quick you were on your feet in trial practice. You should do just fine. In fact, I like the idea."

"Dave, there is one, shall we say, sore spot in my short history on God's green earth that I had better talk over with you. As you'll recall my history in law school, I was a party animal most of the time. Great fun, but I was really just a spoiled rich kid. I'm settled now. I
haven't had a drink in five years. I never went to Alcoholics Anonymous; I just put myself into deep freeze."

"Mighty commendable. It's harder than hell to give up any habit, especially one that's addictive."

"Not so with me. I made up my mind, and I'm sticking to it. Incidentally, to change the subject for a minute, before you leave, make sure you visit the men's room." The merriment that showed lit up Bart's face.

"How's that?" David asked, recognizing the humorous taunt.

"You'll find out all about the oysters," Bart deadpanned.

"Will do." David studied the man before him with a new sense of appreciation. For the first time, they had a chance to get to know each other. He found Bart to be straightforward and honest—a free thinker. He analyzed him politically. How would Bart fare as a candidate? He examined his curly blond hair atop an angular face with deep-set olive eyes that portrayed warmth. The total picture was of a man who was fair minded, good natured, and confident.

"So how can I be of help?" David asked.

They both looked up as a cowgirl approached bearing a tray full of food; the aromatic smells stirred their appetites. Missing hardly a beat, Bart continued on. "Here's how. You're on your way to becoming a leader in the Jewish community. Frankly speaking, Jews are known for their involvement in political leadership and as campaign contributors. I can probably raise all the money I need
without soliciting the support of the Jewish community, but is that politically wise? Every person who makes a donation also casts a vote and then spreads the word. That's what I need."

"Have you talked to Barney Stone? He's also very active and a very big giver. He's got big bucks, not to mention his strong connections throughout the state and even on the national scene."

"Yes, I know of Barney Stone. To be perfectly honest, he's considered the token Jew among the Gentile community. He's one of the few that are on the A-list for many occasions. Calling Stone a friend makes it easier for the phonies, who then can avoid being called a snob. You know and I know, that's bullshit."

"You're my man! I'm hooked."

"There is one other thing I'd better tell you about my dad. Another subject that's delicate. I hope you'll understand."

"Sure, Bart," David said, admiring the candor.

"One of my father's closest friends is Meredith Landow. I know about your broken engagement with his daughter, Julie. I also know the phony reason why. I don't dig what happened, or how it happened, but it's none of my business to stick my nose into it, especially if I make a run for office."

"You need not worry, my friend; that's water over the dam. I hold no ill feelings against Meredith. I know him for what he is; he's weak. It reminds me of the royalty of yesteryear, who considered themselves above others because they came from so-called rarefied
bloodlines. Any bitterness that I had is long gone. It's true, I was dumped. The props were pulled out from under me. I will admit I still have strong feelings for Julie. I find it difficult to get over her, but I know that I must move on."

"I knew that I was going to make a good choice when I called you. Now I am sure of it. David, I would like you to be co-chairman of my campaign committee along with Zachary Allison. I don't know if you know him."

"I've heard nice things about him, although we have never met." "I'll set up a meeting for the two of you to meet."

Idle chatter began to seep into their conversation, devoted primarily to fellow classmates and their career paths. From time to time they did manage to do some planning. Initial fundraising budgets were preliminarily agreed upon, and they drew up a list of organizations for Bart to speak before.

They rose to leave. "Excuse me," David said mirthfully. "I think it's time, shall we say, to withdraw. I've been instructed to visit the men's room."

Bart pointed to a corner of the room. "The portal is right over there, where it says, 'Howdy Gents.'"

The two exchanged good-byes. David, now curious, strode to the men's room. Upon entering he soon spotted on a toilet door what the humor was all about. A picture on the door displayed an angry bull with his head lowered close to the ground, horns pointed forward,
and with his posterior raised, poised to charge. His gonads, which hung loosely, were enormous. No doubt these were what the club's name, Mountain Oyster, was all about. On a hunch, as he walked out, he picked up a menu, and sure enough, displayed in bold as bright as day, there was a listing for a Mountain Oyster appetizer, served deep-fried with a splash of lemon and a tad of garlic...delicious!

As David drove back to his office, he dwelled on both what the lunch with Bart could mean for his career and what politics was all about. Personally he liked politics; he liked getting involved, and he always liked the leadership role. He was aware that politics could be messy at times; backstabbing was an art form. Yet it formed the basis for the laws of the land, which generally were just and fair. Sure, some politicians departed from the narrow path that wound its way in a circular route toward justice; those who departed either had their hands out or played the ego game, caring more about reelection than the passage of good laws. Then there were others, too few in number; the good guys who took civil service seriously, who recognized that one could make a worthwhile contribution to society while still gaining personally.

One of the keys of politics was to pick winners. Otherwise, if you picked a loser, you worked like a dog, and all you had to show for it were too many long-winded meetings, dirty ashtrays, and disappointment at the end. In Bart's case, David saw a winner. Winners could produce great results. Granted, David could expect neither political appointments nor opportunities for legal business, since he didn't do criminal law work. However, the campaign would
strengthen his community recognition and possibly open the door to new clients.

He had long ago decided that it was fitting and proper to have both a selfish and an unselfish motive at the same time. It really was basic human nature. He applied this philosophy to all of his community activities, which would include working on Bart's campaign.

He wished he could whistle, for he felt like spinning a tune to Yankee Doodle Dandy.
THE VENGEFUL UNHINGED

DEPRIVED NO LONGER

The word "austere" would best describe Claude Verdugo. He appeared to Mason as a humorless, dedicated, take-no-prisoners soldier in Mussolini's army, blinded to the cause, as Gino would expect of him. They were seated in the cocktail lounge of the Flamingo Hotel, the first of the fashionable hotels in Las Vegas. The Flamingo had been conceived and developed by mobster Bugsy Siegal, who had been gunned down before his dream of a gambler's paradise in the Nevada desert became a reality.

When Mason sat down with Claude on this, the first of many occasions, he knew right away that it would be a no-nonsense training program. He recognized immediately that learning the essence and fundamentals of the restaurant and casino business would challenge him, and Claude would prove to be a tough taskmaster. Claude's very appearance, the square jaw, the overdeveloped chest, and the dark shades that only partially covered a drooping eyelid, all spelled one thing—intensity.

Mason soon learned that his training entailed considerable homework, on-the-job dictates in the kitchens and casino cages, floor walking between craps tables, learning how to control operational costs, and what to look for to prevent cheating. He was expected to memorize an overwhelming amount of minutiae; nothing was too small; he could overlook nothing. While he was trying to absorb all of this, Claude was also training him to look, and continue to look, for
sleeves containing hidden cards, palmed cards, loaded dice, signals between players, and a whole host of other cheats. The planning involved in the programming of stage productions, lounge entertainment, and other lures was more complex than he had imagined. His job did not become any easier when he encountered some of the difficult personalities of the hired entertainers. He had thought that the drudgery associated with learning had ended when he completed law school, but he now recognized that it was beginning all over again.

As the weeks went on, a change in Claude's demeanor deepened Mason's growing anxiety. "Let me make one thing clear. You never stop learning. Soon Gino will furnish you with exact job descriptions. You, essentially, shall be in charge of all major decisions, and I shall be in charge of operations. But the relentless pace shall continue."

"I've lost five pounds already," said Mason. "Carry on, I'm at your mercy, Sergeant, and I know better than to say that in jest. I actually appreciate your approach. I want to learn everything there is to know about the business. Make me sweat; I expect it."

Sweat indeed. The next twelve weeks were arduous. Mason felt overwhelmed by the abundance of material he was expected to read. Additionally, Claude expected him to perform all manner of menial tasks, from bussing dishes to mopping floors to cleaning up after messy patrons—and worse. Mason understood that this was all part of his training, but he found these chores as fatiguing as they were
monotonous. When he got home at night, he was so overwrought that he found it difficult to sleep. He was lucky to get five hours a night; he was wired up like a maestro's strings.

Throughout his training, Mason saw little of Pappy, but one day, during the latter stages, his friend and partner unexpectedly appeared in the late morning. After a brief greeting, with his usual warm smile lighting up his cheeks, Pappy said, "I think it's time that you and I get together and powwow. Can you take a break for lunch?"

Mason, now thoroughly under Claude's thumb, replied with a sigh of relief, accompanied by an undertone of cynicism, "Check it out with the tyrant over there." He pointed his finger in Claude's direction. "I'd be glad to take a break. Any break that I get is like being handed a piece of cake."

Pappy got the message and sauntered over to quietly converse with Claude, who recognized his higher authority, but still required that the break would be one hour and no more. The two men hurriedly left the premises.

They headed for the closest spot that provided quick service. "Ugh" was all that Pappy would say as they pulled into a fast-food restaurant and walked inside. After placing their order, Pappy was informed that he had to wait at the front counter for the food to arrive. That was his first introduction to fast-paced food service but not his last. He soon found out that the booths were not designed for his stout frame, and he had to squeeze into it. He began to squirm, trying to adjust, but his discomfort was evident. He continually frowned,
which was unusual since he was about to indulge in eating, his favorite pastime. He complained, "Now I know why I've never been to a fast-food restaurant before. If we weren't going to talk about money I'd really be miserable."

"Hell, Pappy, the only reason that we chose this place is because you and Gino have such a tight leash on me."

"That's okay my friend, we're all doing what we can to make mucho green bucks." Pappy leaned forward; as he did, Mason inhaled the burning waft of the onions on his double-patty hamburger. Pappy began to talk in a hushed tone, having lived in the world of secrets for so long, he feared imaginary listening devices even in a noisy atmosphere. "Gino wants me to explain the procedures when income comes in the Desert Club. To begin with, all the money that flows into Moon Glow will be reported as income for tax purposes. On the other hand, the money that we take in at the Desert Club will be handled differently. If a client wins at gambling, we will pay him promptly at the conclusion of play. It's a different story when we make money. The client will then immediately wire the funds, pursuant to earlier instructions given him, to one of thirty international institutions where we have business connections."

Knowing that Pappy loved coffee, Mason broke from Pappy's report and asked, "Care for some more java?"

"Good idea. You know me well. You want my juices to keep flowing so that you'll get the whole story." Pappy's humor returned as
his jowls lightly swayed. He looked around, spied a worker, and pointed to his cup for a refill.

Mason interrupted, almost laughing, "You're too used to dining in fancy places. Here you will help yourself at the refill station. Let me get it for you, the usual?" As overweight as Pappy was, he continued to add two lumps of sugar and an ample amount of cream or powdered alternative to his coffee. He nodded affirmatively, and Mason left to get the coffee.

When he returned, Pappy said, "Okay, where was I? Oh yeah, we do business with about thirty foreign financial institutions around the world, who understand our rotation system. You're fortunate, Ronnie knows each institution, all the routing numbers, and is used to tracking money flows for separate accounts. We decide how much comes back and how much stays abroad. After we decide, private couriers procure the funds and deliver them to us. Of course, we will not report what they bring in. Once you receive your portion, you will decide, since it will be unreported, where to keep it."

Pappy paused for a minute and dwelled on Mason's expression, his eyes had opened up in total wonderment. Pappy was amused. "I can see that you want to know more. I wonder why? There actually is more to cover with you, which we will do later. For now you have to get back to Claude, who I think we all fear," Pappy said jokingly.
"I can see where Ronnie will be a big help," said Mason appreciatively, which he acknowledged was just another gift that she brought into her life.

"You bet; she knows it all. She has been down the road many times with Gino, who is a master at the international game of hiding money. I might add that Ronnie also has knowledge of what to do and where to place the unreported funds that are brought back."

Mason put both of his hands on Pappy's shoulders. He looked him straight in the eyes, "Both you and Gino know what you're doing. I trust you both entirely, and I'm willing to let you and Gino make all the decisions. You decide where the money goes, how much to bring back—all the good stuff."

"I'll tell you one more thing," said Pappy. "I know how hard you are working under Claude's evil eye, but Gino and I have not had an easy time of it. It's a big job installing the underground vault, which will be encased in twelve inches of steel to keep it from being detected by the city authorities, since we did not get a building permit. We want no public record of its existence. I don't want to make a big deal out of this, but I will tell you this much, we brought in sixteen workers, a structural engineer, and an electrical engineer from Italy, who worked secretly at night. It's been quite a process. Once we're finished and begin to remodel the existing building above ground, we will then, of course, get a permit."
"You and Gino continue to amaze me," said Mason, still somewhat surprised that he had been so fortunate to have been chosen by them to head up the operations.

"When we next talk, we will cover the locking devices, the password system, and the special key arrangements, to gain access to the vaults," said Pappy as they clasped hands, closing the meeting. Both men were pleased with their charade.

They entered Pappy's car to return Mason to work and further regimentation. With a smile on his face as he was dropped off, he said, "I got the message; no more fast-food places for my friend, Pappy."

***

Despite the difficulties he endured under Claude's numbing tutelage, despite the lack of sleep that daunted him, despite the fact that he had lost weight, Mason thought of Ronnie every day. He kept asking himself the same question: Does she really want to talk to me,or has Gino retained her to keep an eye on me? It was a goodquestion, but he knew another reason he didn't call—the real reason. He was afraid. The fact was, Mason was afraid of all women. So many looked down at him; so many expected a taller man; so many expected someone with poise who knew how to talk to women.

Actually, though his face was a bit too thin, it was nicely proportioned. His dark complexion harmonized with his black hair and the thick frames of his black glasses. Mason's biggest defect,
although he didn't realize it, was that he didn't smile much. He wasn't a very happy person. The way he saw it, people considered him inferior, and his insecurity was compounded by all the women who ignored him. He had finally given up. He decided that if he lived alone, he would avoid the sinking feelings that women brought on; it was a safer harbor. Instead, he would concentrate on becoming a financial kingpin.

Now that Mason had a week off after passing Claude's many tests and completing the program, Ronnie continually elbowed into his thoughts. He wondered, could he work up the courage to call her? In a sudden burst of confidence, he decided to do so, but then as he picked up the receiver, those old feelings returned. He recoiled as he began to experience nausea. Thoughts of past disasters, many instances of acting foolish around women, returned. Even now, living in Las Vegas, a paradise for ladies willing to make a sale, he hadn't gone to a single whorehouse, worried that forcing attempts at arousal would lead to a limp dick.

He longed to have a sexual experience, but, as usual, settled for self-indulgence, often fantasizing that he and Ronnie were on a sexual merry-go-round. Typically, while he was lying in bed, eyes closed, experiencing the aftermath of one of his nocturnal adventures with her, the question would pop up: So what if she works for Gino? He knew that he had nothing to worry about. Under no circumstances would he betray Gino or Pappy. He was totally committed to their joint venture and the big profits that would come. Tomorrow for sure he would call her.
It was the third day of his one-week vacation. It was a Saturday afternoon, and he was at home lying on the couch watching the races. He still had an affinity toward horse racing that began while living in Tucson. He no longer pored over the racing sheets, but he still placed a bet once in a while for fun. The third race had just concluded. He was waiting eagerly for the fifth, he had placed fifty dollars on the nose of a comer called Dang It All.

The phone rang. On the second ring, Mason slowly arose, reluctantly slipped into his Sloppy Joe house slippers, and shuffled over to the phone.

"Hullo," he said nonchalantly.

"Hello yourself." Immediately, he snapped out of his relaxed, sleepy mind-set. "You haven't called me. I'm very disappointed," she purred.

The silence that followed was undeniably too long. Mason doubled over; the usual butterflies in his stomach had grown into a swarm of bees. Pain stabbed his innards; he couldn't straighten up. After taking a few long breaths, he managed to say, "Hi...Ronnie. I'm glad you called. Not feeling too well."

"Is this a bad time? Should I call back later?"

"No, no, please don't. Hang on, I'll be okay in a moment." He quickly took in deep breaths and lay down on the sofa to relax, hoping to minimize the pain. Moments passed and then metastasized into agonizing feelings of embarrassment. Feeling better, he forced
himself to pick up the phone again. "Hey, I know I just acted like a jerk."

"No problem. Things happen," she said cheerfully. "I'm anxious to talk to you."

"Do you mean it?" He instantly knew he sounded foolish and regretted it. "I guess that I should have called you sooner."

"That would have been nice, but I know you've been very busy," she said.

Boldly, Mason suddenly declared, "I'm going to be honest with you. I don't know why, but I have this sudden feeling I can talk to you. I usually have trouble with women."

"Kudos to you for being honest," she said with a soft, uplifting tone, which reminded him of the times that his mother used to sing him lullabies. "You'll be surprised, but I have trouble with the opposite sex too, although for different reasons."

Mason's discomfort had disappeared. He could tell that she wanted to keep talking. "Well, thanks," he said. "I've wanted to call you so often that I was getting tired of wanting to call you."

"When will you be ready?"

"Ready? For what?"

"To see me. Could you be ready in an hour?"
"Sure," he managed to say. He was stunned. He couldn't believe that he actually was going to see her. It was happening so quickly. It was unbelievable.

"Excellent. I'll pick you up. I know where you live. We'll get some coffee or go out for a bite, or maybe even take a drive together."

Mason heard himself say, so unlike him, "I look forward to it."

"So will I. Now I understand you better. Down deep you are shy and probably very sensitive. Frankly, I like that. You have qualities beyond just the desire to make money. Though don't get me wrong, I love money. I have a feeling that we're going to get along very well."

***

Mason was refreshed by the cool breeze from the spring air, which heightened his excitement as he sat side by side with Ronnie so unexpectedly, so quickly. The fact that she had not denigrated his infantile demeanor when she first called was an immense comfort to him. He found himself relaxing in her presence. He felt alive, touching feelings never before experienced, buried emotions that he didn't know existed.

"I seldom drink, but tonight I wish to celebrate," he gushed. "Being with you is very special. Where would you suggest that we might have a nice cocktail in a quiet setting and then some dinner?"

She turned and looked at him searchingly—he melted. "I know just the place where not only you but I can also pour my heart out.
Sometimes that is the best way for two people to get to know one another better. While our two stories are different, I have a hunch that in some ways they are much the same."

She smiled warmly, assuring him that her feelings for him were

real.

They pulled into a lovely, posh restaurant. Ushered to a booth in a corner of the room, they welcomed the fact that only a handful of people were present; the dinner crowd had not yet arrived.

A waitress appeared, and Mason couldn't help but take notice of her. Strikingly thin but very curvaceous, she wore mesh stockings and a short miniskirt. Her over-endowed breasts were squeezed into a low-cut white blouse that seemed about to burst, as was typical in Las Vegas. Mason suspected that both her facial features and breasts were surgically enhanced. Accustomed now to the ways of Gino and Pappy, he said, "I'll have a Jack Daniel's Black on the rocks."

Ronnie mused, and then she ordered. "I'll have a Manhattan. Also, could we please see your appetizer menu?"

They both sat quietly for a moment, contented, sharing each others presence. Softly, she broke the silence. "Mason, tell me more. I want to know everything about you."

"Are you sure? I'm not very good at this. Most people don't give a damn about me."
"Take a chance. I might surprise you. In a sense, I'm making an investment. If you pour your heart out to me, and I listen attentively, then you can do the same for me. Tit for tat, as the old saying goes."

"I do feel that I can talk to you easily, but I hope I won't begin to gush and embarrass myself."

Ronnie noticed that his voice was deep with a resonance that she found very pleasant to hear. When she first heard it, she was surprised, expecting the higher pitch that she typically associated with a man of Mason's size.

"I have a feeling that you have a lot of baggage that you've stored up for a long time," she said. "Incidentally, has anyone ever told you that you have a wonderful speaking voice? It really commands attention. Have you by any chance ever done any public speaking or singing?"

He chuckled. "Me? Public speaking? Music? I avoided classes in both while growing up. I usually didn't even join in when 'The Star-Spangled Banner' was sung in class."

"Music is the soul of life," she countered.

"Sorry, I don't know the words to any music. I can remember long word passages in contracts and other written instruments, but I can't keep a few simple lines of music in my head."

"That's something else I would like to share with you." "You don't mean that you want me to sing."
"No, I wouldn't want to put that pressure on you. I just mean that maybe we can share some music together. There are some wonderful musical productions straight from Broadway here, along with some great nightclub entertainers. One outstanding musical is West Side Story, which recently opened."

"With you, I'm open to anything," he said.

Their drinks arrived. The waitress handed each of them a list of early-bird appetizers. "What's your most popular dish?" Ronnie asked.

"By far, it's the open-flame-grilled lobster tail, lightly bathed in a divine lobster sauce."

Ronnie nodded her head. "That does sound delicious, especially since I haven't had lunch."

Mason followed with, "What's your next most popular appetizer?"

"I would suggest the carne seca tapas, complemented with a hummus filling, and a hot mustard dip on the side."

"You're very convincing; I'll have that," he said, handing her back the menu. Turning to look at Ronnie, he leaned forward, lifting his glass. She joined him; they tipped in unison. Mason then said, having discovered a new person that he didn't know existed within himself, "To a most wonderful lady and to a wonderful evening."
Ronnie didn't know, what was it about this man that was so appealing to her? His eyes were hard to read. They were relatively small, and also dark, as was his complexion, and his personality did not convey warmth. Yet she was attracted. She detected a softer inner soul. She could also see that he contained a darker side that smoldered within—the same inner soul she saw in Gino and Pappy.

"Mason, that was so sweet. What a romantic you are turning out to be. I know that this will be a wonderful evening. Now tell me about yourself. I want to know everything." Her voice hung on "everything."

"I'm not sure where to begin, but I will try, so long as I know you will share the good, the bad, and the ugly with me as well."

"I promise, dear heart, together we will discuss our buried feelings. I'm convinced that by probing like this we will get to know each other better. I'm trying to find out what it is that makes you so attractive to me."

"Here goes," he said. "When I was growing up, I was called a runt. In fact, I've been short all my life. I grew up also being called a kike and a dirty Jew. I took the abuse; I said nothing in return. They wished I would retaliate so that they could beat the hell out of me.

They bullied me, pushed me, and sometimes spit on me. What could I do? I couldn't fight back. I tried to avoid them. I took circular routes while going to school so they wouldn't see me. I spent more time walking down alleys than on sidewalks."
Mason looked away. "It was worse because my parents had thick Jewish accents, which totally embarrassed me. I made sure that no one ever met my parents, but I was still ashamed of them. I never invited them to any school functions. I withdrew more and more; I became a complete loner. I got so used to doing things by myself that I lost contact with the kids in the neighborhood and in school. Oh, I did manage a few friends once in a while. They were usually the ones who got into trouble." He hesitated. "Hey, this is taking too long. I don't want to monopolize the whole conversation."

"It's okay. Go on just a little longer, and then we'll take a breather. I find this very interesting. In a few minutes, you'll understand why."

Mason took a deep breath, not so much because he was finding it difficult to breathe, but more as an expression of his divided intentions; he was willing to keep going yet reluctant to do so. "As for girls, they were out of the question. No one wanted a shrimp, and I guess someone that sulked all day. If I did run into someone my size, I soon found some fault with her. It was an excuse to make it easier to avoid getting involved, or to escape before they discarded me. I always did well in the classroom. Often I was at the head of the class. I found school easy, but I fell flat on my ass with girls. But you know what? I didn't fit with the guys either."

Mason's eyes lowered as he visualized all the unhappiness and bitterness in his past. Gradually, he raised his head, and in so doing he found he could feast upon the very beautiful, composed, tall lady
seated before him. Ronnie had a pert, upturned nose, warm, inviting lips, and unblemished skin, smooth as if it were satin. Unlike other women, who wore their hair in an upsweep, the usual style of the day, she maintained a pageboy hairstyle with bangs. He guessed that she probably wanted to play down her tall appearance.

"Mason, that's a story I am very familiar with. You were made fun of because you were Jewish, small, and not very muscular. Our stories parallel one another in a sense. I was always the tallest in my class. No boy came close to my height until I graduated from elementary school. I was gawky and uncoordinated. I was called crazy names, such as 'the glunk,' or sometimes 'glub glub,' as in a dumb fish. It's strange, since I was also one of the smartest kids in the class, but I guess my gawkiness made me seem dumb. No boy would pal around with me. The girls also shied away. Guess what? Like you, I became a loner. Finally, in high school, I met a jock on the football team who was about my height. He took a liking to me, and we hit it off. Things went well for a while, but it was puppy love; he wasn't very bright."

She smiled; her face lit up, eyes brightening. "What kept us together was that we had great sex. I not only lost my virginity, but I really took a liking to it. We dated for a long time. We did not have much else in common. I didn't have any hang-ups about sex, unlike a lot of the girls. They would say, 'Oh, I've got to wait till I get married.' I thought it was silly, and I know that some thought that I was cheap. I couldn't understand it. Why not have fun now! Anyway, Jocko went away for college, and we lost touch. I understand he washed out
trying to make the football team, and who knows who he is bedding now. So you see, Mason, I understand what you went through. Kids can be very cruel. Both of us endured being the butt end of all of the jokes and the smart-ass remarks."

Ronnie glanced at her glass. "I've gone dry. Would you please get me another drink? I want to tell you something that I knew about you before we met." Mason looked at her, wondering what she could be talking about. "It's something that you may have wondered about. Let me explain why Gino chose you to manage the two operations, in spite of the fact that you had no prior experience. Yes, Pappy agreed with the decision, but he rubber-stamps whatever Gino says."

Mason's cheeks flushed. Suddenly, he was nervous; his pulse began to quicken. Knowing that his new job with Gino was his new life, he speculated whether Ronnie was now serving as Gino'smessenger. Was the relationship thing between them part of a setup? Was he about to receive an ultimatum or be canned? Wasn't he performing well enough?

"Gino assigned me the task of researching everything I could find out about you. I studied you from your birth, through law school, and on to the practice of law. Yes, I know about your disbarment. I know about your grades, and I discovered that you have a natural ability to make money."

"You sure found out a lot about me. How the hell did you do it?"

"We went very deep. We even interviewed a lawyer in Chicago who knew you before you decided to move to Tucson. For a fee he
confided to me that you once worked for an elderly couple as their lawyer before you were legally admitted to practice. It was clever; you showed them that you were cheaper than any lawyer and then withdrew some of their funds behind their backs."

"Yeah, I remember that guy. He later lost his license to practice."

"I've also seen some past pictures of you. Guess what? I always thought you were cute. You have a sly smile, typical of someone who's cunning, always thinking. Though you're small, you still hold your head up high. I've noticed that you can be arrogant at times. Many small people react that way. What may really surprise you is that I took a liking to you. I even recommended you to Gino before he selected you."

"So let me get this straight. Your interest in me started before I walked into Gino's office," he said bluntly, with a sudden show of cockiness.

"Very true." She smiled warmly. "Now please, don't get too full of yourself. There was another reason I took a liking to you. I'm going to be very honest with you." She looked searchingly; their eyes, as if mesmerized, focused unblinkingly on each other. "I may be off base, and you may want to cut off my long legs and cast me aside, but I have another motive."

"Man alive, you keep me on the edge. All right, I'll bite; what is

it?"
"I know it's too early. I should have waited to get to know you better, but we're being upfront with each other, so I'll keep going." She looked again into his eyes. They were darker than earlier, and she knew he had gone into his cold stage. She also knew, or felt that she knew, that warmth was buried deep within those eyes; the coldness acted as a shield. She took a deep breath and said, "I like the wonderful things that money can buy. Gino knows what I want. I don't just get a straight salary from him; he also gives me a small participation in many of his deals. I wouldn't have it otherwise, and he knows it. The point is, one of the things I find attractive about you is that I think you're smart, and I know that you are going to make millions with Gino and Pappy."

She paused, searching for a negative reaction, but Mason surprisingly went into "upbeat mode." "I guess that's called liking you for your money," she continued. "I hope that I haven't offended you, but I thought it important that you know how I feel. It wasn't the only reason, but it was one of the reasons that I wanted to get to know you better."

Mason's expression was a calculated one. He leaned forward, eyes narrowed, seemingly on the attack, and feeling strong. Knowing that she had an interest in money gave him control. Power, which he always sought, now had become a part of his relationship with her.

She was talking his language. Making money was his life's work.

"I'll tell you why I don't mind hearing what you just said." He straightened up in his chair. "Let me make something clear. I think I
have something in common with Gino and Pappy. I only associate with people I like, and I like them because I think that I can make a big hit with them. I always have my eye on the money ball. So why shouldn't you think that way? Listen to me." Mason's tone was relaxed but firm. "I like the features on your face; I like the way you dress; I like the way you smile. Those are all physical features. They are part of your package. Making money, big money, is part of my package. So why shouldn't you want to be in on it? Let's face it, women seek men with money all the time." He hesitated, relaxing his shoulders, suddenly concerned that maybe he was coming on too strong.

That did it for Rhonda Wilma Maybury, though Mason would not know her given name until it was emblazoned on a marriage certificate. What she had just heard enthralled her; this sub-sized man with the oversized ego couldn't have made her happier. "Mason, I'm beginning to adore you."

Mason sat back. No one had ever talked to him that way before. Her endearing words suddenly embarrassed him. His feelings were beginning to emerge from the deep wells of despair, rising like a pressurized gusher. The happiness that he experienced was unlike anything he had ever known before.

He rode that emotional treadmill the remainder of the evening. As they were beginning to wind down, Mason decided to let it all hang out. He would raise the one issue that they had not spoken about.
"You know, if we begin to date, people are going to snicker and make fun of us. We are going to be one hell of a conspicuous couple."

"Did you see the movie Gone with the Wind?" she asked.

"No, I can't say that I have," he said curiously, frowning.

"At the end of the movie, Clark Gable's character, Rhett Butler, is pissed, about to walk out the front door of Tara, a large plantation in the South, the home of Scarlett O'Hara. She pleads with him to stay. 'Please don't go; I need you,' she pleads, or something like that. He slowly turns to face her. 'Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn.' With that he turns and walks away. That's one of the all-time memorable movie lines. That's how I feel about what others will say."

She paused, smiled, leaned forward, gently placed her hand behind the nape of his neck, and slowly drew him to her. She gave him a soft kiss on the lips, then another. He noticed her breathing beginning to accelerate. Taking his hands and holding them to her breasts, she said what was in her heart. "I know we hardly know each other, but I feel it's right. I'm in love with you. I'm taking you home with me." She momentarily paused to get a grip on herself.

As they drove away from the restaurant, Mason was getting dizzy; the excitement of the evening had worked his nerves up to a high pitch. He wondered whether she had noticed that he was in a constant state of arousal. Unlike any other experience he'd had with women, he had no doubts that he would be able to perform sexually with Ronnie.
Thoroughly enchanted with each other, they entered a posh neighborhood where tall palm trees lined both sides of the street. They soon approached a gateway with an enlarged bronze pharaoh's head atop its archway. The gateway slowly opened as they drew closer to a series of spectacular townhomes aptly named Pharaoh's Palm Estates. Each home featured a large walled-in garden and an entrance patio leading to an immense hand-carved front door. Inside, the homes featured a spacious foyer with a circular staircase leading to the second floor, which consisted solely of a master bedroom. Its bathroom resembled a Roman bathhouse, complete with a sauna and a steam bath. Two other bedrooms, one of which owners often converted into an office or a den, were located on the first floor.

The couple drove to the rear and entered Ronnie's private garage. Upon entering through the rear door, they encountered a small foyer that led to a kitchen on the right and a dramatic living room directly ahead. Never before had Mason seen such finely appointed decorating. The colors, the furniture, and the plush carpeting—all had carefully blended hues in a series of light-shaded burgundies, blues, and golds. There was a bar in one corner of the living room with a large mirror as its backdrop; a glass-paneled door to one side showed a fully stocked wine closet.

When Ronnie turned on the light in the corner, a series of slow-moving strobe lights began to throw off stark shades of blue, gold, and muted red. The effect was immediate. Never before had Mason seen a room change from one color to another in a matter of seconds. This lady has class, and exotica is the invitation, he thought
to himself. He also recognized that Ronnie was earning a lot more money than ordinarily accorded her position. She obviously played a bigger role in Gino's organization than he had thought. He wondered, How involved is she in Gino's multiple operations? That was his lastbusiness thought for the evening. The semi-imaginary world that he had just entered soon immersed him; he was riding a large-winged bird somewhere in the netherworld.

Halfway into the living room, she quietly turned and gently took his hand. Without speaking a word, she led him to the service bar. Mason noticed for the first time a grand piano on the other side of the bar, across from the wine closet. She sat atop a barstool, and as she did, she drew him close to her and began to unbutton his shirt while peppering him with soft, delicate kisses, moving in a semicircular fashion from one cheek to the other. Mason closed his eyes, enjoying her touches; she was in total control, and he didn't mind at all. Just as delicately, she parted his lips with her tongue. Mason's legs buckled; so wonderful was the impact that he emitted a low moan.

Now quicker, not as gentle, she unbuttoned his shirt, exposing his underdeveloped chest. Downward she proceeded, unbuckling his trousers and lowering his shorts, whereupon she looked wide eyed.

"My, oh my," she said in a coquettish, almost teasing voice. "Am I going to have fun with you. You're oversized. Your stallion is immense."

She arose from her seat. She stood straight up, perfectly postured. Music, the melodious voice of Julie London at her sultry
best, suddenly permeated the room. Ronnie's voice, barely audible, whispered, "Look at me. Mason, whatever you do, please do not lower your eyes. Just keep looking." She turned up the rotation speed of the strobes. They began to flicker much faster than before. Slowly, ever so slowly, she took off her blouse and removed her bra, exposing beautifully curved, upright breasts bathed in alternate colors of burgundy, then blue, and then green. The colors changed so quickly; every motion, each different pose, was caught as if suddenly suspended in air; the effect was mesmerizing. He couldn't believe how wonderful it was. Quickly, as each of her movements were recorded in a different light, she lowered her man-sized slacks to the floor and deftly stepped out of them. She grasped her bikini panties by the ends and quickly lowered them as well, exposing her gateway to ecstasy, which would soon house his oversized member. Mason's naiveté gave way to fascination. He couldn't take his eyes off this beautiful, dancing lady moving in cyclical rhythms before him.

She tilted her head backward. "Touch me. Touch me along the sides of my body." She was breathing heavier now. She managed to say, "Down to my hips; touch my buttocks." She flung her head back. "Mason...Mason, I'm loving it so much." Her body was now beginning to spasm. "Oh, Mason, I'm getting very wet. Oh...Mason, I love it. I love it. Are you looking? Feast on me. Don't stop looking." The lights began to alternate faster and faster. As they did, she began to shake more. Her moans were growing louder and louder. "Don't stop, Mason," she pleaded. "Mason, I can't stand it. I'm so wet, Mason. Something's going to happen."
"Do you want me to join you?" he gasped.

"No, no," she shrieked. "I'm saving you...I'm saving you for dessert."

Between heavy breaths, she went on. "Just watch me. Feast your eyes on me. Don't stop for a second." Still standing, she began to shake violently, as if she were going into a convulsion. How she maintained her balance was a mystery to him. "Oh, Mason, I can't stand it. Mason, it's happening, Mason. I'm very wet. Oh my God. Mason, quick, touch me; rub between my legs." Then the jolts came, defined moments, one after the other, a dynamic series of intermittent shockwaves, almost knocking her over. She uttered guttural sounds, barely able to breathe, and with a force from within, she rose up on her toes, arched her back, and shrieked. "I'm coming. Mason, it's awesome. I'm in heaven." Now curled over, trying to catch her breath, barely able to talk, she managed to say, barely audible, "Mason, thank you, thank you so much. I felt your eyes on me the whole time. I loved it." She was raining tears.

Slowly she raised herself tall again. Looking lovingly at Mason, who was standing there in all his glory, she took his hand. "Now come with me. Time for dessert." She led him up the stairway to the master bedroom and straight to the bed, which sat atop a circular platform that turned ever so slowly; they both lay down. Then she pounced. Before he knew what was happening, she engorged his stallion, devouring it with lavish delight. She had saved him for dessert, and now she savored every last drop.
From those glorious moments, Mason's previously shattered confidence as a lover became a forgotten memory—forever.

***

As the weeks flew by, Claude would meet with Mason every day to go on the site of Moon Glow to review the construction progress, discuss interiors with the decorator, begin to choose paint colors, go to furniture shows, make decisions on what gambling equipment to install, and attend to all other matters, some large, some small, that were continually arising.

It was decided that in addition to hiring lap dancers, the club would stage a modest production every evening, featuring dancers intermixed with a comedian, a singer, or occasionally a magician. For seating arrangements, they would set twenty bar stools along a semicircular laminate bar that arced at the foot of the stage. Dinner seating consisted of twelve tables in the middle of the room, with five booths facing the stage on each the side of the wall.

In a separate room, they set aside a designated area for gaming, separated by semi opaque curtains that showed the shadowy movements of people on the other side. These curtains cleverly created a feeling of both openness and intimacy simultaneously.

Mason couldn't have been happier. He loved the planning and couldn't wait for operations to begin. Pappy informed him that they would have a grand opening of Moon Glow. They would invite city
dignitaries, including the mayor, members of the city council, and leading state legislators. They also added executives and high-salaried employees from local businesses within a fifteen-mile radius of the Moon Glow to the must-invite list. The food would be lavish, an open bar would engage the guests all evening, and the scantily clad ladies were instructed to flirt and tease, though physical touching was verboten.

Adding to Mason's high was the fact that he and Ronnie saw each other daily—they couldn't wait to get their hands on each other. The sex between them was ravishing and often took place in the strangest of places. Ronnie couldn't get enough; she was constantly in heat. The more they saw each other, the more they blended. They both realized that commitment was around the corner. Though Mason expected to make the major business decisions between them, when it came to sex, he would be utterly compliant.

Mason began to worry that when Gino found out about their relationship, he would become concerned that Ronnie might disclose business secrets to Mason. When Mason discussed this with Ronnie, she, too, became unsettled. Finally Ronnie said, "Honey, I think this is one thing that I have to handle. I have to tell Gino alone. I have to tell him that no business secrets were exchanged between us, and they won't be. As much as I want to continue to work with Gino, I will understand if he wants to dismiss me. I'll tell him quite frankly that our love is very deep." She peered down at him lovingly, but she obviously had a question on her mind. "He may ask if we are going to
get married. I intend to say that we haven't got around to a serious discussion about that as of yet."

"You don't have to do that. Tell him that we are getting married."

"Where did that come from? Now I feel guilty. I feel almost as if I dragged that out of you."

"Honey, I've been waiting for the right time to pop the question. I wanted to do it in some secluded spot so I could hold your hand and kiss you all over, but this thing about Gino has accelerated our plans. Please understand that he only sped up the timing; I made up my mind at least a month ago. I guess some of those old feelings crept in. I don't know why, but I was afraid to ask you."

"My love, we are now engaged!" she said, hugging him as she slowly began to lick his ears, whispering, "I'm so happy. I feel like shouting to the heavens."

"Honey I'm so unprepared, I promise to get you a nice ring," he

said.

"Don't feel rushed, darling. Right now a new sex toy will do."

Mason burst out laughing. Her one-liners were a daily refreshment; her humor added lightness to their relationship. No day was ordinary in her presence.

***
Gino was sitting at his desk when he heard a knock at the door. He knew it was Ronnie. All of his meetings were set up strictly by appointment, and everybody adhered to his protocol rigidly. Only Ronnie could, and would, sometimes enter his office when he had nothing scheduled. He said, "Come in, Ronnie."

As she did, she was obviously surprised to see that he was holding a rapid-fire automatic weapon. He couldn't help but chuckle at her astonishment. "Anyone I know that you plan on knockin' off?" Ronnie quipped.

"No, no, I'm just toying with the idea of taking it home to have on hand for defensive purposes. What's holding me back is, how will my wife react? She may think that we are on somebody's hit list. I could build a cabinet in my closet and keep it there, but she enters it quite often to hang laundered shirts, and I'm afraid it'll make her uncomfortable."

"Actually, you can explain it quite easily. Many people are keeping weapons in the house. Break-ins are quite common these days; it's scary. Stuff like that."

"Anyhow," he said, "what's on your mind?"

"I have something personal to talk over with you." Usually very comfortable in Gino's presence, she now felt uneasy. Gino seldom got upset, but when he did, she knew that he could suddenly explode. Would this be the end of their relationship? "Please understand that I would never reveal anything regarding your affairs or the names of
anyone you have done or are doing business with. My lips are sealed forever."

Gino, revealing nothing, said, "Go on."

"I am a normal lady of twenty-nine with a supercharged sex drive."

"Nice to know." He looked appreciatively at her from top to bottom. "Hmm, not bad, but I'm sorry to say, I'm spoken for."

"I'm going to surprise you."

"So are you finally getting around to talking to me about Mason?"

"Oh my God. I have to sit down. You are too much."

"It shouldn't surprise you. Claude and Pappy have both kept me informed of your growing romance. They asked if there is something that should be done about it. I said to each of them, 'Aren't you married? Don't you carry in your head multiple secrets about our business? Do you tell your wives? Do you really believe that Ronnie would talk about such things to Mason? I trust her as much as I trust you.' So, my dear, I've been waiting for you to break the news to me."

"Do you mind that I'm seeing him?"

"From what Claude tells me, Mason is a working fiend. Claude seldom praises anyone, but Mason is turning out to be exceptional, as he puts it." Gino put down the weapon. He arose from his desk and came around to sit next to her. "I don't need a stuffy desk to
separate us from what I'm about to say. You and I have been together for about seven years. I'm extremely happy with your performance, and personally, I'm very happy for you and Mason. I don't mind that you're seeing him, because as I see it, it may be good for business that you two are, what can I say, hanging out together. I like tight-knit families. So long as Mason performs and you never reveal to him the inner workings of our business, I have no issues with the two of you having a personal relationship."

"Gino, I would never let you down. You've been too good to

me."

He picked up the weapon again. "Care to go duck hunting with me sometime?"

"I think I'd prefer a shooting gallery." They smiled together. Ronnie was relieved that her worst fears were only imagined. "My God," she impulsively said out loud, "I think I'm going to get married."

"You will love marriage, I am sure. It is wonderful, especially if you love family. For me the only minus is, because of my love for my family, I'm always looking over my shoulder. My lifestyle dictates that I live in a world of secrecy. I move in the shadows. I have just a few friends who share the same seclusion with me. I must confess, sometimes it gets lonely, but I've made my choices, so there is no going back. The fact that you're getting married, inviting family and friends to a wedding, and, shall we say, are about to move in society as a couple would be like a breath of fresh air to me. I'd love to attend
your wedding. I'd love to mingle with your friends. I'm so sorry, but I can't attend... That decision was made many years ago."

"It's a shame. You've amassed such great wealth, and yet what can you spend it on? Yes, a lovely home and an abundance of security devices there and here at the office."

"True, my lovely friend, but I'm also working so that I can provide security and a great education for my kids, the grandkids when they come along, my church, and some charities. From what I have read, most leaders, although they may not live in the secret world that I do, experience loneliness at the top. I read quite a number of biographies, and a secluded life is a natural progression among those at the helm. Anyway, thank you for listening to my lament." Gino arose and embraced the tall lady. "This is something that I wanted to do many times." He looked into her eyes. A new softness never before expressed came through. He said, "Enjoy the good life with Mason, my dear friend."

As Ronnie left his office, she couldn't help but feel very sorry for her very wealthy but lonely employer. She had one additional thought. As much as she was aware of what went on in Gino's organization, she had not ever thought about how that could affect her. She always knew how close Pappy and Claude were to Gino, and although she enjoyed both of them, she now recognized that both she and Mason must be very careful. Although she planned never to disclose any of Gino's business secrets to Mason, it was important that both she and Mason do everything they could to
remain above suspicion in their eyes, and of course, in Gino's eyes. Though Gino had not said so, she knew that doing otherwise would be disastrous for the both of them.
THE VENGEFUL UNHINGED

THEIR HEARTS MELTED

Colonia Solana, a large subdivision consisting of one-acre lots located in the heart of Tucson, was established in 1925. It blossomed after World War II as home development accelerated. The homes featured a Southwestern architectural flavor, often referred to as ranch style. For the most part, Colonia Solana attracted residents of wealth and influence, as did its sister community, El Encanto Estates, on the other side of Broadway, a main east-west thoroughfare.

While most of the residents were married with growing families, there was also a sprinkling of widows, divorcees, and single people, including Bart Langley, one of the few bachelors in Tucson who could afford to live there. Not only was Bart's father a partner in one of the larger and more successful law firms, but his grandfather, an early Arizona investor in Phelps Dodge Corporation, one of the state's most successful copper producers, had established a trust fund for him.

The home Bart purchased featured four bedrooms, a spacious backyard, and a kidney-shaped swimming pool. Constructed over twenty years previously, the home had a vintage heritage. The original owner had been the architect, who not only designed the lot configuration and layouts for the subdivision, but as the early designer of the architecturally attractive homes, also contributed to the neighborhood's upscale reputation. The architect's homes were well constructed, usually with a sand-colored stucco exterior and a
dark-stained shake roof. Bart's home had a big look, branching out on both sides of a large oak-paneled front door. The high-walled front patio was fronted by an arched gateway entrance. It was suited perfectly as a setting for a political event. David had just concluded his remarks as campaign co-chairman and chief fundraiser for such an event held at Bart's home. David delivered his speech with poise and charm, embellishing his remarks with humor when appropriate. He found these sorts of speeches relatively easy to deliver, especially if he had a good candidate to represent.

People willingly pledged dollars to Bart's campaign for county attorney. Even his volunteers, whose resources were far more modest, made contributions. The campaign had been barreling ahead for eight months with interest heightening substantially; all signs pointed to Bart's election as the county's next chief prosecutor. His opponent, a buffoon who was more interested in satisfying his ego than delving into the issues, was falling further behind. David was benefiting also; his stature in the community was growing as a result of having been selected as a co-chairman, and he was enjoying the recognition. His co-chair, Zachary Allison, didn't work very hard as it turned out, and he preferred to stay in the background. David had a natural talent for capturing a listener's attention, and his effectiveness as a public speaker gave Zachary further reason to back off.

At the conclusion of David's remarks, Bart followed to answer any questions. He too was naturally charismatic and highly effective.
At the conclusion of the presentations, mingling began. That was always a highlight at a political event, since most who attended were seekers who welcomed the opportunity to meet new people and get caught up with those they knew.

A tall, bespectacled, athletic-looking man approached, saying, "Hello, Mr. Sherwood. I'm Solomon Beyer. I was elected as a city councilman a year ago, and I really enjoy being involved. It's challenging at times, but tackling the tough issues is what governing is all about." He held out his hand, which David quickly acknowledged with a firm grip.

"Solomon, I'm delighted to meet you. I know of you. You're making great strides as a city councilman. The fact that the community accepted your African American heritage and supported you speaks well for the community and speaks well for your ability to generate confidence in the minds of the voters."

"Nice of you to say. Actually, I think it's more a matter of good timing. As you know, Lyndon Johnson has changed the direction of Congress; his high-pressure tactics as majority leader are succeeding. In all likelihood the Civil Rights Act will pass very soon. Thank God for Judge Earl Warren, who spearheaded Brown v. Boardof Education. That ruling broke down the barriers that had remainedsince Lincoln's day."

"I share your analysis. It's interesting the way society is opening up for all minorities, both on a racial and religious basis."
"Very true. Society en masse is a very slow mover," he replied. "I must say that the man who I think had a great deal to do with accelerating the pace for people of color, was Jackie Robinson. The pain, the isolation, and the discrimination he went through on and off the ball field as the first black man to further the cause against discrimination is remarkable. The fact that he became the rookie of the year while under those pressures is even more astounding. The man must have had a constitution made of cast iron."

"Well said, my friend. I hope someday we can work together," said David.

"I'm glad you brought that up. My reelection campaign will take place in a few years, and I'd sure like to call upon you when the time comes."

"That's very complimentary, Solomon. Barring unforeseen events, I would look forward to it."

"Thank you, David. Now please excuse me. As a good politician, I must be moving along. I still have many hands to shake and smiles to spread."

"By all means. Pleasure meeting you."

David continued to mingle, amid many kudos and congratulatory acknowledgments, some no doubt the product of cocktail-party politeness, but some meaningful. He was beginning to understand the magnetism of politics; one could easily get swept up in its momentum. True, a politician faced pressures from all sides; no
matter what one decided, there was always strong dissent. Politicians needed skill in bobbing and weaving, much like a boxer, to ward off those seeking to undermine their every step.

After a few more moments of mingling, he suddenly stopped, momentarily unaware of the people around him. An unusually attractive young lady with a mane of red hair that glistened in the soft overhead lighting diverted his attention. Her radiance was penetrating; it was as if Aphrodite had been reborn and was standing alone, separated as if on an island, while people crossed to and fro. She was chatting with some girlfriends. As she looked up, he became embarrassingly aware that he had been staring.

Since he and Julie had broken up, David had felt so torn, so emotionally beat up, that he found it hard to function. He could only work and then work some more. Women no longer appealed to him. On a few occasions, he met someone for coffee or a drink, but he soon lost interest. The problem was, Julie was a presence in all his thoughts—his every move. He actually had a running conversation with her. They would go places together in his newly created imaginary world, chatting and laughing as if nothing had changed. The fantasy refused to disappear. He found himself whispering in her ear, "I love you so much," as he used to say when they shared pillow talk or went camping, or when he drew her near, hugging her like a teddy bear. Lately, with the passage of time, some memories had begun to fade. Father Time's message was starting to get through; their severance was permanent.
He stole another glance at the woman. Her semblance bore the loveliness of the actress Rita Hayworth. As if he had sent a telepathic message, she turned quickly and looked directly at him. Their gazes locked. In that brief moment, sparks flew like a burst often seen in an Independence Day celebration. He flushed; waves of warmth ran through him, as the first signs of attraction washed over him.

Bennett Altman, his genial senior law partner, put his hand on David's shoulder. A genuine bond had developed between them. "David, you handled yourself very well. It will be interesting to see what kind of future you carve out for yourself in politics someday."

David deadpanned, "It certainly is a different kind of challenge. We all work hard, but I have to hand it to the politicians. What a work load! It's exhausting. What's time consuming are all the handshakes and forever small talk."

"David," Arthur Silver, his other partner, chimed in with a mix of humor and sarcasm. "You're doing the public a service. Isn't that the standard rhetoric?"

"I know you jest, Arthur, but my belly says there really is something to it. It's a higher calling despite all the bullshit." They exchanged knowing looks as others crowded in, wishing to talk to the chairman. Very little would be said that evening that hadn't been said before, but it made for light entertainment and a buildup of friendships and personal contacts.

As the evening began to wind down and many of the guests were departing, David felt another tap on the shoulder. Turning, ready
to smile, preparing to accept another compliment, he was completely caught off guard, so much so that he reacted with his head thrown back, as if he were experiencing a whiplash.

"Hello, Mr. Sherwood." She spoke with a cultivated lilt to her voice. Unsaid, buried in her greeting, was the message: You are tobe congratulated for a well-run meeting. Deeper yet, her messageconveyed the familiar message of the ages: I want to get to know youbetter.

"A greeting from a lovely lady is always appreciated," he replied with a lilt of his own and his own undisclosed message: You are morethan lovely. I've had my eye on you from the first moment I saw you. I was hoping that I would meet you.

"May I compliment you for a well-run meeting?" she said with an undertone of soft huskiness.

"So I assume you are a loyal party worker and toil in the working world?" he asked.

"If you're asking what I do, I deal with the likes of you. I'm a legal secretary; I work for one of the partners in the Langley law firm. Actually, I work directly for Bart's dad. And yes, I help on the campaign, and I intend to also make a donation."

"Now that the evening is winding down, are you planning to go straight home?" he asked, unable to be nonchalant; his interest was apparent. "If you have the time," he concluded, "perhaps we could stop off, share good conversation, and imbibe together."
Without hesitation, she replied, "That would be nice. I'll leave my car here for the time being. Incidentally, before you ask, I'm Mista Cantrell," she said, offering her hand.

He took her hand, held it a moment too long, turned it over, and quickly glanced at her left hand. "My, you have a long life line—and no engagement ring, I see. I'm delighted to meet you. You did say your name was Mista?"

"I did."

"Well, that will be one of the first topics of conversation. As you no doubt have been told before, that's a most unusual name. Come, my car is parked at the front door. Let's go have some fun. Frankly, I'm ready to relax."

David pulled into the Kon Tiki, a charming restaurant with a Hawaiian atmosphere. Bamboo reeds separated many of the patrons; chairs were adorned with fan-shaped backs. Multitudes of picturesque vodka and gin specialty drinks decorated with pineapple wedges sat atop the tables. One of the newer restaurants in town, it had been opened by a fellow attorney and his partner, a successful, well-known restaurateur.

They were seated in a secluded, private booth, shielded by a bamboo curtain. The waitress arrived wearing a flowing sarong decorated with splashes of colored flowers. She introduced herself as Oona and suggested three favored specialties and an appetizer known as Monkeys-on-a-Stick, which was doused in an appetizing pineapple barbecue sauce.
David nodded toward Mista, and she, accepting the nod, asked, "May I please have a gin and tonic?"

"I would like to try your piña colada, and how about an order of your Monkeys as well? They sound delicious." He looked at Mista. "I hope you'll share them with me."

Their eyes locked again. He found it hard to take his eyes off her. She was absolutely divine. Her sensuous lips and slightly indented cheeks, buttressed by high cheekbones, had a captivating effect. He finally looked away, hoping that he hadn't been too conspicuous.

"Mista Cantrell. Your name has a nice ring to it. I'm fascinated with your first name. Do tell me about it."

"You'll laugh when I tell you." She chuckled.

"I promise only to laugh with you and not at you."

"I was born with the God-awful name of Matilda; what could be dowdier than that! When I was growing up, I couldn't stand the name. My parents got the idea, so they started calling me Missy. That was a little better, but it rhymed with 'sissy,' and sometimes guys would razz me about it. They'd call me 'missy sissy who is a prissy,' and sometimes they would substitute, pardon the language, the word 'pussy' for 'prissy.'"

"So what did an imaginative young lady like you do about it?"
"While growing up, many of my friends and I went to a lot of movies, and we read a lot of movie magazines. As is so common among the stars, they change their name to something more theatrical, so, silly me, since I saw myself someday in lights, I decided that I, too, would need a more dramatic name. I can't exactly explain it, but the word 'mist' forms vague, imaginary, unclear pictures. That appealed to me. Then I tacked an 'a' on the end, and presto! Mista was born. And it stuck."

"That's a first. I guess most names were made up centuries ago, but you are probably one of the few in the modern age to do so. Do you have pet names for others as well?"

"As a matter of fact, I have an adorable small dog, and I named him Cuddle, because he's so cute and his snuggles are full of love."

"I promise not to tell anyone that your name is Matilda," he said, enjoying their first shared secret together.

"Please, it makes me shudder," she said as she drew her shoulders close to make a point.

"Okay, let's now dig into a deeper subject. How come an attractive lady like you has not already exchanged 'I dos' with the love of her life? I should think you would be settled down by now, keeping a home and wiping runny noses."

"Hah! Just like a man to stereotype all women. If a woman is not a teacher, a nurse, or a secretary, she must be a mother. Yet I blame women almost as much as men for putting up with the
shortage of female opportunities. Don't think I am some kind of a heroine about to begin a march on Washington. I'm just as bad, tagging along doing what other women do. My big regret is that once I finished two years at community college, I didn't go on to the university and get a degree. I'm not sure what profession I would have chosen, but the law does intrigue me. Right now there are only two female lawyers in Tucson, and they are usually confined to the office, buried deep in research. You never see them in the courtroom or with clients."

"Well, I certainly struck a nerve. You're right. Women have been categorized from time immemorial. The only victory that I can think of is that they finally gained the right to vote."

"I do like to work, but I know that I will finally settle down and raise a stable of children. My lofty platitudes only go so far."

"Now that I think of it, there was only one female in my law school class of about seventy-five guys. She was one of the smartest in the class." He paused, fascinated by the subject but wondering how far he should take it. He chanced it. "So would you be willing to take on a crusade for women?"

"Not really. I don't have the time, and frankly, I'm not that unselfish. It would be a great cause, and if somebody else would lead it, I would join it. Maybe, if I didn't have to work, then I would jump in and lead all the mindless women who do the customary thing, including myself."

"Frankly, I can see you taking on that challenge."
"As I was growing up, if somebody dared me and I thought I had a fighting chance, I would accept the challenge. I remember losing once and making a fool of myself, but I didn't really care that much. It hurt my feelings, but my feelings had been hurt before, and they will be hurt again. I'm pretty tough skinned."

The drinks came; David quickly sipped his to soothe his dry mouth. Was his dryness a reaction to Mista's presence? As the waitress passed by, Mista asked her where the sarongs could be purchased, suggesting that they could be worn as after wear while swimming. Her suggestion led to a discussion about the dampness that would show through, leading to the conclusion that terrycloth was still the best covering. The conversation ended as the waitress moved in the direction of an upraised hand from another customer.

As she turned and faced David, Mista said, "I have learned so much from waitresses. They must get loads of ideas talking to their customers."

"Barbers are another great source," he said.

"Nothing beats what goes on in the beauty shop. I think some women go as often as they do just to learn who's pregnant, who's getting divorced, and the latest on women's fashions."

"So do you fall into that category? Do you go in for, shall we say, idle gossip?"

"Not really." She hesitated for a moment. "You know, Mr. Lawyer, you must be pretty good in the courtroom."
"How's that?" he asked with a trace of amusement.

"You ask many questions, and you do it so well that I find myself answering, without realizing that I'm on the stand." She laughed, enjoying her 'gotcha'.

"I confess to the cross-examination part, but I refuse to withdraw the question. Will the witness please respond?"

"All right, Mr. Persistent, when I was a kid growing up, I was a tomboy. Climbing trees, hopping fences, and playing ball with the boys were my main pastimes, with two exceptions: reading movie magazines and going to my favorite aunt's house, Aunt Jean. So in answer to your question about idle gossip, I don't have a lot of time for that nonsense. I like the outdoors too much. I love camping. I love playing tennis. I also love dancing, especially to my new heartthrob, Elvis Presley. When he sings 'Love Me Tender,' he is in a class by himself."

"There's also 'Hound Dog.'"

"A different sound, a different beat, but that's the new trend, and I love that also."

"We'll have to play tennis someday. That's my sport also." "I'm beginning to think that we have many things in common." "I was thinking the same thing," he said.

"I sense that you want to experience everything, go to the top of your profession, and enjoy life to the fullest."
"Nicely said," he responded. His thoughts raced. This gal is onthe ball. She could be a great asset to one who wants to get ahead. I'll test her a little.

"I'd bet, if you were to get married, that you would enjoy entertaining."

"Absolutely, but please don't think of proposing so soon," she said, raising one eyebrow. "I know that you still have another lady on your mind, who you're trying to forget."

"Now how in the hell did you know that? You aren't psychic, are

you?"

"Not quite. Bart's secretary and I are quite close. We do talk, as women do, and I'll go one step further. She was the one that suggested I attend Bart's campaign party tonight. She thought that I might want to meet you." She bundled up a paper napkin and threw it at him. "How about that?"

"Please don't tell me that you waited until most people had gone home before you came over."

"Why not? That's what interested ladies do to find an interesting

man."

"You haven't even given me a chance. I'm supposed to be the aggressor that seeks you out."

"Don't ever underestimate the wiles of a woman."
"I now know one thing. I certainly won't underestimate you," he said. "You're very entertaining and very interesting. I'd like to see you again. Perhaps then, you can tell me about your Aunt Jean. I have a feeling she has played a big role in your life. I'm already aware that you have emerged from climbing trees, and you're now seeking longer, bigger challenges."

"I do think there's a chemistry between us," she enthused in a slightly softer, breathy tone. "I also would like to see you again."

"Great, I'll call you tomorrow. At work, okay?"

"By all means. I think that would be very nice."

***

Casa Molina was a very popular Mexican restaurant with a long history of fine dining. Located on Speedway on the east side of town, it was well known for thickly coated cheese crisps and lovely margarita concoctions.

Previously, David had asked Mista whether she could get away from the office, since the restaurant was located out of the downtown district.

"I think that can be arranged. I'll fib a little and tell the office manager that I have a doctor's appointment with my obstetrician. I haven't been feeling well in the morning, and she'll assume that I may be pregnant," she replied heartily, enjoying the humor in her reply.
"Now you're talking," he quickly retorted. "You can mention that I'm the possible culprit. I always take responsibility for the women whom I impregnate."

"You're fast, David, mighty fast."

"Well now, since you're doing me a favor and adding to your lunch hour, I owe you one selfish request in return."

"Only one? See you at lunch."

This should be an interesting lunch. One thing I know is there will be a lot of banter and repartee, he thought as he sped to theirrendezvous.

They punctually greeted each other as the hostess stood by to seat them. He was quick to say, "Hi, you look ravishing today." Ravishing was hardly the appropriate description; she had graduated beyond Rita Hayworth and reached the Venus de Milo stage. He knew, and quickly saw, that heads would turn as they entered the dining area of wonderful aromas and abundant onlookers.

"Hello, yourself. You are also, shall we say, easy on the eyes," she replied.

He chuckled. "I came a little early, and I've already arranged for our seating. Allow me." He extended his arm, and she lightly touched his elbow as they followed their hostess to their table.
As they were seated, he said, "When I was in high school, I took two years of Spanish. Damned if I remember anything other than a few greetings and how to ask directions."

"I think a major part of the problem is that all of the Mexicans we know speak English. It's a shame; I'd love to learn a new language, especially Spanish."

"Statistics say that someday Mexican Americans will outnumber Caucasians in this country. It probably won't happen for another one hundred years, but they do tend to make more babies than we do."

The waitress arrived carrying a pitcher and salted margarita glasses on a handheld tray and asked whether they would like some margaritas. They looked at each other, both tempted, and both shook their heads against it. "Not today, thank you. Some other time, perhaps, when we don't have to return to work," David said. Instead they ordered iced teas and promised to look at the menu before the waitress returned. "So what will you have, my dear?" he asked as he leafed through the pages, looking for the salads.

"Since dieting is a constant, I guess I will have a topopo salad with the chicken. I understand it's very good here," she said while scanning the list of side dishes.

"That's an excellent choice. So tell me something exciting that goes on in the life of the only person I know who has a fictitious name."
"Hmm, you're asking me for something very profound on the spur of the moment. How about some observations? Care to know what bothered me at Bart's party?"

"You've aroused my curiosity. What was it?"

"I think that politics is irreverent in many respects."

"Are you saying it's silly?"

"I guess what I mean is that it is to be humored. Politicians are like salesmen. They're always selling themselves. They never talk about the warts on their face, the number of traffic tickets they get, or the fact that they were in juvenile detention as a teenager."

"Well, I see that we have touched upon the nerve center of the day. In defense, there really is a lot more to it, particularly when they assess current issues and their positions."

"I wonder about that also. Do you think, generally speaking, that politicians mean what they say, or are they just trying to please people?"

David sighed, now aware of the depending tone of the conversation. "Well, I don't mean to get too involved in the subject. After all, we're just getting acquainted, and I want to talk about you and maybe us. However, I'll say this: one of the major problems is that there are too many veto groups in this country. Too many people are focused on a single issue. They may agree with a politician on the majority of the issues, but if he is opposed to their precious single issue, they most likely will vote against him. Take a favorite issue of
most women. Most, with the exception of the deeply religious, favor a woman's right to choose whether she wants to keep a child or not, if she is pregnant. A religionist will shoot you down every time. That's why politicians will often try to skirt the issue or offer a vague answer."

"My pappy," Mista added gleefully. "He said to avoid discussing politics with a friend, so I'll leave it at this: you make a good point about veto groups. I promise to continue voting and even will work on Bart's campaign as one of your volunteers, if you wish."

"Consider yourself hired. The pay is terrific. I hope you'll settle for kisses and ice-cream cones."

"Since I'm always dieting, I'll accept the kissing, but only if you are the smoocher."

"Did anyone ever tell you that you're very entertaining? Since I'm looking to find warts on your face, tell me something that you ordinarily don't tell someone who you've just met."

"You don't waste any time, do you?" She looked straight into his eyes, and then she began to glance from one side to the other, as if she were searching for an answer. Boldly, she declared, "All right, I was born into a blue-collar family. They have little education. My father is a plumber; he makes an average living. He used to have his own crew, but weak knees forced him to stop, and now he works for a plumbing supply house. The most education that either of my folks had was two years of high school. They would be lost in the
conversation that we just had about politics. In fact, my sister and brother would also feel out of place."

"So how did you manage to go down a different path than the rest of your family?"

"While I was still in grade school, I took a liking to my Aunt Jean, who lives in a subdivision close by. She is the only one in the family that has had a college education. She majored in history and minored in English. She taught high school until she retired. Aunt Jean made the words in books come alive for me. She opened my eyes to life's wonders. I became so interested that I began to read every chance I had. As a matter of fact, I became so busy at it that I stopped climbing trees."

"So she became your mentor?"

"She certainly was. She would take me to the library, and we would spend hours together. I fell in love with her description of many historical events. She pointed out how history helps us to learn from others' mistakes. I found her much more fascinating than my teachers. She's a dear lady, and I love her very much. She's now in her eighties, but she's still very lively, with a delightful sense of humor."

"She sounds terrific. I'd like to meet her."

With a knowing nod of her head, she assured him, "She'd like to meet you, too. I told her briefly about you, and she said that she couldn't wait to meet you."
"And so the twain shall meet," he responded.

"She also taught me another thing. When I'm in mixed company and something is said that I don't quite understand, to nod agreeably, keep my mouth zippered tight, and listen."

After lunch was served, they spent the remainder of their time telling stories, sharing interests, and relating an occasional joke, accompanied by smiles and laughter. They even managed to make two decisions. Mista would arrange a lunch with Aunt Jean, and they would go "almost camping," which translated into a stay at a bed-and-breakfast, scenic drives, and a hike together in the Chiricahua Mountains, a former Apache stronghold about one hundred miles south of Tucson, the weekend after next.

***

Relaxed, enjoying the scenery, they drove casually as the greenery became more abundant and the magnificence of the mountains loomed before them. Frank Sinatra's crooning of "Come Fly with Me" over the radio further set the mood. Since he became a full partner in the law firm, David's draw every two weeks had increased markedly. He rewarded himself by purchasing a sporty new 1966 Corvette, which cost him an additional $1,600 in excess of the ticket price. Four-door sedans usually bore the traditional stamp of a lawyer, but he didn't mind departing from the norm.
Mista lay back, reclined in her seat. Eyes half-closed, picturing David kissing her with animal hunger, she noticed a kindling, an awakening within, a feeling that she had not experienced before.

She reemerged from her fanciful thoughts as David timidly approached a subject that they hadn't previously discussed. Keeping his voice low, somewhat apprehensively, he said, "The Kachina Doll, where we will be staying, has rooms with either a king-size bed or two queens. The Michelsons, the present owners, acquired the property a few years ago, and from what I understand, have extensively remodeled it. It's a five-bedroom, two-story ranch-style home. It has a reputation for very lovely Indian art, Native American jewelry, multiple pottery and baskets, and of course, plenty of kachina dolls. I'm sure that before we come back, we'll know all about their history. I believe the dolls are artistic representations of young maidens, birds, animals, and much more."

Mista rose up slightly in her seat. "I'm looking forward to staying there. I'm so glad that we decided to do this. I've never known a great deal about the Indian culture, so this should be a real eye-opener."

"Uh, yes..." Hesitatingly, he went on. "But to further the subject, I don't know quite how to say this, but we haven't discussed the sleeping arrangement. The manager said that if we arrived early, we would have our choice. I figure that we'll be there by noon."

"Do you mean to say that if I asked you to sleep in the living room on the couch while I enjoy a king-size bed, you would go along? If so, I would say that you are a true gentleman and very chivalrous."
"I don't know what I'm saying. I like the idea of being chivalrous, but I like some other ideas also."

"I'll make things easy for you. I want to sleep with you together in the king-size bed. I think it's time that I give up my virginity."

That did it. David broke out into uproarious, virtually uncontrollable laughter, such that he was able to settle down only when he started coughing. He said, "Usually I only break up like that when I hear a wisecrack by Groucho Marx or a raucous joke by in-your-face Don Rickles. You, my dear, just hit the very top of the laugh meter."

She quickly followed with, "And if you believe me, I've got some swampland in Arizona to sell you."

"Mista, you with the fictitious name, you are too much, and I'm lovin' it."

As they continued driving, Mista slid closer, put her hands on the nape of his neck, and began to gently massage it just enough to show care and affection. David resisted the urge to pull over and be anything but gentle. Instead, he held the wheel more tightly, focused steadily ahead, and murmured, "It's not very easy, my dear, to be chivalrous in your presence."

"I brought my notepad along in case you wanted to do some dictation. Would that help?"

"I like the dictation part, but you won't have to take any notes."
Her massaging had now slid down to his shoulders, and were it not for the console separating them, her hands might just have kept following the basic laws of gravity, down, down, and down.

They soon saw a sign with an arrow pointing to the left, a large kachina doll tilted on its axis, and a message in turquoise that read, "Five miles to lodging."

Minutes later a two-story ranch building, decorated in various shades of yellow, orange, and turquoise, came into view. Inside, it was as David described; Native American culture permeated their first encounter with an entirely different way of life. A hostess, wearing a badge, greeted them. "Hi, I'm Blossom Dancer." No more than fifteen or sixteen, Blossom Dancer wore a beaded leather dress, a turquoise necklace, matching turquoise earrings, and a very warm smile. She spoke perfect English. "Welcome to the Kachina Doll. You must be David and Mista. Mr. and Mrs. Michelson will be with you very soon. Right now they're both busy preparing your lunches."

She ushered them upstairs to a spacious bedroom with early American decor, and a four-poster bed on a raised platform that immediately caught their eye, displaying four of the largest hand-stitched, cushioned pillows that they had ever seen.

David looked at Mista, and his sly smile belied easily detected hidden motives. "I think this is going to be one great weekend."

Mista returned his gaze affectionately. "I felt the same thing as soon as we started driving, but this room—it's so lovely. I couldn't be happier."
Blossom Dancer asked, "How much time would you like before lunch?"

David replied, "A half hour will be fine."

Being early arrivals had its advantages. They were the only ones in the dining room, and they enjoyed the quiet setting. Dessert consisted of a bowl of mixed fruit, lightly seasoned, with a slim sliver of chocolate cake. As it was being served, the Michelsons came out of the kitchen to greet them. David and Mista prompted the Michelsons to sit with them, which gave them an opportunity to find out about their surroundings. The Michelsons were warm and gracious as they expounded on the beauty of the Chiricahua's to their residents' eager curiosity and growing interest. Long a campground favorite in Arizona, the Chiricahua trails featured many outgrowths and panoramic views, and the hikes were graded from easy to very difficult.

David looked at Mista. "We hadn't made any plans, but a hike sounds pretty good."

Mista echoed his remarks. "That would be simply great. What level should we choose?"

"How about something moderate, like level two? I think that should be challenging enough." asked David.

"May I suggest a trail?" asked Mr. Michelson "By all means," David replied.
"I would suggest the Buena Vista trail, which is about two-point-four miles long. It's a good climb to about eighty-seven hundred feet. I advise that you slow down as you get close to the top. As you know, the atmosphere thins out, and you may encounter some difficulty breathing. We will supply you with some apples and oranges, and a backpack if you do not have one; plus we have a nice, lightly sweetened lemonade along with regular water for you to take with you." Mr. Michelson explained.

"That is so good of you. We city folk often do not think of those things."

Mrs. Michelson offered further assistance. "We understand perfectly. You're the tourists; we're the informed guides. If you proceed at a steady pace, it will probably take you an hour and a half each way, but the views are spectacular. You'll probably stop once or twice along the way to take them in, or simply to rest, so the entire hike could easily take up to four hours."

Soon they were off. David allowed Mista to lead, figuring he'd adjust to her slower pace. That was a miscalculation. A half hour later, David made his first request to slow down and take a break. Sitting in the shade of an overhead ledge, David said admiringly, "I can see now that when I was growing up, I should have climbed trees. You're as nimble as a cat."

Mista smiled. "I guess I should've told you that I also did a lot of hiking in the Pusch Ridge Mountains north of Tucson. During high school, I had a steady boyfriend who was a standout on the track
team. If he were here right now, he would be running all the way up to the top. He was always slowing down for me. 'Girls,' he would say, 'are pansies!' That would usually start a big fight. He turned out to be one of those male chauvinistic types, truly obnoxious."

David chuckled. "Right now I'm the pansy. I'm worried you'll turn out to be a female chauvinistic tyrant."

"Are you insinuating that you prefer a dominating woman?" she teased.

"Depending upon the setting, I may welcome a little domination."

"I think we better hit the trail. After all, we didn't bring a pillow along."

Close to two hours later, they arrived at the top, a rugged crag tilted in an upward direction with little level area to rest or admire the spectacular views. They stood upright with one foot raised on a low rock and their lower leg leaning against the side of a large formation to brace themselves. David was still trying to catch his breath. "You know, I run two to three miles a day and work out in a weight room pushing iron, but this altitude has really worked me over. But look at you—you're amazing. I think you could leap tall buildings in a single bound. Aren't you even a wee bit tired or out of breath?"

"Me Jane, you not Tarzan. You city folk need new set lungs!"

"I could also use a nice shower and a long nap," he said, thinking of the lemonade in his backpack, which he couldn't reach for
fear he would lose his balance, and damned if he'd ask Mista for assistance.

"Don't go to sleep now," she cautioned. "We still have to get back."

"Not a chance. I'll make it down just fine. I just like to complain once in a while to gain attention."

"I understand," she said, "and of course, you don't feel like asking me to reach over and get the lemonade."

"Let's move on," he replied, refusing to acknowledge his thirst.

Mr. Michelson's estimate was optimistic; the round trip took over five hours, allowing for David's frequent stops to rest. When they returned to the lodge, David impulsively asked Blossom Dancer, "What is the latest we could come down for dinner?"

"You still have about an hour," she answered. "Will that be all right?"

David groaned jokingly and began to slowly climb the stairs to the second floor. His legs felt like they had turned to lead.

They entered the room, suddenly on high alert, both feeling awkward, both quiet, each unsure how to approach the other now in the privacy of their own bedroom for the first time. Unable to maintain the silence, yet not quite knowing what to say, David offered meekly, "Honey, I'm beginning to think that the couch idea may work after all."
"You're such a dear. That's why I love you so much." She gave him the longest kiss and then bounced off him and said, "I've got first dibs on the shower."

"Go for it. My wait until you return will only be slightly unbearable."

Unabashedly, she quickly undressed, and hanging her panties from her toes, flicked them off onto a chair and dashed into the bathroom, as her bare bottom was forever etched within his brain.

All David could think about was that there was something remarkable about the lady. He had never imagined that he would be able to even think of another woman for many years to come. He couldn't believe his good fortune. Their chemistry together, their common interests, were like a gift from the great beyond. Maybe she wasn't a movie star; maybe he was overdramatizing when he drew comparisons between her and Rita Hayworth, but he certainly felt like he was sharing a bedroom with an undiscovered star.

Her voice suddenly echoed through the bathroom door. "David, darling, there is room in the shower for both of us. I'm ready to wash your back."

No invitation could be more inviting. "I'm on my way." With a flourish, he undressed. He quietly opened the door to his new love, a vision of loveliness, standing there only partially hidden behind the shower curtain. Aware of his feelings—their feelings—the shared intimacy to come that would nourish his nerve endings, he pulled back the curtain and entered.
And so it was, within a setting born of Apache lore, Mista and David became as one, fully immersed in each other's rapture and love. Their hearts beat in unison as if native drums of jubilation were heard off in the distance.

When they finally came down for dinner a half-hour late, they were very apologetic, but nonetheless giddily happy for the interlude that occasioned the delay.

***

When Sunday afternoon rolled around, altogether too soon, the starry-eyed couple, their relationship having deepened beyond what either of them had ever expected, bade their good-byes to the Michelsons, promising they would return. Mista, sensitized to the passions still coursing through her, openly declared, "I don't think a honeymoon could have been more enjoyable."

Hugs and kisses on the cheeks were exchanged, and with eyes glistening, the young couple settled into David's sporty car and sped off to once again return to their organized life of schedules and responsibilities. David sat back, one hand on the wheel, his other hand entwined with hers. Instinctively, he said, "We owe a great deal to Bart's secretary. What's her name?"

"Adele, she's a dear, and she did something for us that was precious."
"I feel like getting her something. What do you say that we order a bouquet of flowers so they will be at her desk on Monday morning?"

"David, my darling, that is brilliant and so thoughtful of you. Mind if I compose an inscription?"

"Honey, you don't need permission. What do you have in mind?"

"How's this?

'Adele, thank you so much for giving us the gift of each other.Love, Mista and David.'"

They sped on, their hearts gladdened.
THE VENGEFUL UNHINGED

HIGH JINKS IN THE MAKING

Although Mason was in training, he was required to conform his working hours to nightclub life. Claude insisted that he arrive no later than six for his dinner meal and that he be prepared to work at seven. He would then work until four in the morning. Worn thin when he headed home, he would sleep till noon; after that it was Ronnie time. He would call her immediately upon awakening and arrange to meet her for lunch at half past one.

Ronnie would prepare lunches each day so that they could save time for sex in her apartment before she returned to work. As it was, if she did return to work late, Gino didn't mind. Gino trusted her to get her work done. Oftentimes she had set her own hours. Ronnie and Mason had also formed a pattern. The two lovers required no foreplay; they were instantly ready for as much sex as they could get in, and they still managed to eat a quick lunch.

As their feelings for each other deepened, rapture dominated their thoughts morning, noon, and night. His love, her influence, was molding him into a caring human being. Truly a new man, he now moved with confidence. Formerly a user of people, wary of most, he was friendlier, willing to build relationships and occasionally open to small talk.

He and Claude had now settled into a routine. Though he still maintained a heavy pace, he was more relaxed; he even made it part of his routine to get to know the employees better and work with them
cooperatively. One harbinger of his former life still remained; he had not forgotten that he had a score to settle with David Sherwood. This was something that he would not discuss with Ronnie, or Pappy, or Gino. It was strictly a private, personal matter, and his bitterness lingered like an embedded infection.

During the dinner hour, the two lovers were able to spend more time together. Ronnie offered to assist Mason with his training. She pulled Claude aside and sweet-talked him until he said she could, with the understanding that there would be no hanky-panky. This suited them both, for they were working zealots, with exceptions. Whenever they could sneak away from Claude's reproachful eyes, they would escape to a cramped broom closet to couple. They quickly removed sheets and pillows from a laundry basket and laid them out on two gymnastics cushions.

On Mason's one free day per week, they would venture out, usually to see a show on the Strip. They saw West Side Story, the first musical that Mason ever had seen. Subsequently, a remake of 42nd Street, which also captured their fancy, appeared. They hootedand howled at Groucho Marx, Sid Caesar, and Bob Hope when they appeared onstage at various times. With marriage in the offing, they picked a date about sixty days after the opening of Moon Glow's doors.

Thirty days before the opening, Claude began preparing for the special gala planned. Because so many were invited, two different groups would arrive an hour apart. The continuous flow of traffic
would be served buffet style before the evening entertainment began, which, as word leaked out, would feature surprise guest stars. They knew the open bar would be jammed, so they doubled all employee shifts. Gino calculated the spectacular program would cost $250,000, but he felt that it was well worth it. They invited some dignitaries, but for the most part, they invited the business men and key employees of the working class.

As time grew near, one evening during dinner, Mason, who never thought he would get married, asked Ronnie, with some trepidation, "How do you feel about having children?"

Always quick to respond, she said, "Children are one of the great joys in life. I've been asking myself the same question; one or two children would be just wonderful. I've always abhorred the idea of being a housewife. Seems dull to me, but now that we're about to tie the knot, maybe I'll try playing housewife once the children are born."

"Financially, that won't be a problem," he said. "From what Gino tells me, I'll be swimming in money. I kind of like the idea of having a child or two. I sure hope, if we do, that they take after your side of the family and grow taller than me."

"Darling, whatever! Let's just take them as they come. The main concern is that they are in good health."

***

The weeks flew by as Mista and David cemented their relationship. Considering that she came from a simple background
devoid of mental stimulation, she was well informed, witty as hell, ambitious, and she impressed him, saying that she planned on a great deal of entertaining, which would be a valuable aid toward building his career. She admitted she wasn't "spiffy" when it came to cooking, but she was willing to learn, and if necessary, she would take a cooking class or two.

He had one concern. Mista continually avoided introducing him to her parents. He put it aside because the romance was running on high boil, and he found it difficult to discuss what appeared to be a delicate matter. She did willingly agree to a meeting with Aunt Jean, and they set up a lunch for the following Saturday, a few days away.

As usual, David picked up Mista at her apartment, and they drove to meet Aunt Jean at Mickey's Restaurant on Speedway; a coffee shop, which Jean preferred over anything more elaborate. Though the restaurant was not based on a Disney character or theme, the proprietor, Mickey Becker, did appropriately use Disney colorations. The red-backed chairs were supported by a black metal seat on black legs. The countertops were vivid yellow Formica, and the walls featured dancing clowns in a series of poses on a white background.

David had asked to also pick up Aunt Jean, but Jean declined his invitation; she instead agreed to meet them at the restaurant. David couldn't help but appreciate her gumption. Mista told him that although she was eighty-one, she was sharp as a tack and had her wits about her. When it came to driving, she drove slowly and
deliberately, crouched low, and was barely visible above the dashboard.

As expected, Aunt Jean arrived fifteen minutes early. Comfortably seated at a table set up for three, she wore a soft-toned gray suit with a tailored weave. Her face was lean without many wrinkles, complemented by clasp earrings, inlaid with a rounded white buffalo stone that had incursions of assorted shapes of black and brown; such stones were often referred to as white turquoise and were equally as expensive. She wore conservative makeup, with muted red lips, a light coating of rouge upon her cheeks, a properly powdered face, and the smile of an aunt that you knew you could talk to about many subjects. Alertly, she arose as they entered.

"How's my favorite aunt? You're looking radiant today," enthused Mista, throwing her arms around Aunt Jean.

"I always light up when I'm about to meet a gentleman whom I've heard so much about. You, young man," Aunt Jean said, pointing a playful finger at David, "have piqued my curiosity." Her voice was clear and crisp.

David extended his hand. "I feel as if I know you already and I already know how to win your heart: by ordering a bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich, which they prepare to your specifications."

"Oh my, my secret is out. I'm now a pushover; say whatever you wish, and I will agree to it. I'll tell you another secret; there is one other way that will win me over. Mention an interesting passage in a book that you've read, and tell me why it's so interesting."
"I think I can do that. I don't think you're talking about interesting legal cases, so I'll resort to nonfiction."

"Not quite yet, young man. Let's first order; you've already awakened my appetite. When I am fed and refueled, I will then have abundant energy to explore the world of ideas with you."

"Aunt Jean, I thought you were going to tell David how wonderful I am. Now you two are going to engage in some lofty conversation and probably exclude me."

"Oh no, you won't get away that easy. We're saving you for the romance novels." Aunt Jean's eyes crinkled as she laughed, and the young couple laughed with her in appreciation of this elderly lady, who was very much alive.

The waiter came; Aunt Jean nodded in David's direction. "This young man will order for me."

David placed her order, what the waitress called "Aunt Jean's Special," and then added, "In appreciation of this gracious lady, our guest, I will order the same thing as she does."

Not to be left behind, Mista chimed in, "I also will have the same."

Continuing in a lighthearted mood, David then said, "I reserve the right to order one dessert with three forks to add a finishing touch to what I know will be a delightful meal." Somewhat surprised he quickly learned that Aunt Jean held to certain principled disciplines.
She declined to participate in sharing dessert, despite the friendly intention.

"Now, young man, tell me something revealing in literature."

"Well, I'll tell you the first thing that comes to my mind. It's a story of irony, as I see it, which I found interesting. During World War II, I think that society was in agreement that George Marshall and Dwight Eisenhower had emerged as the two most respected military leaders. When the time came for President Franklin D. Roosevelt to decide who should command the Normandy invasion to wipe out Hitler's forces, he vacillated back and forth between the two candidates for months. Because Marshall was the head of the Joint Chiefs of Staff at that time, the president finally conferred with him about the choice. All Marshall had to do was say, 'Mr. President, I'll take on the responsibility to lead the Normandy invasion.' Instead, Marshall, being the good soldier that he was, didn't think he should decide for his commander in chief, and he told the president that he would abide by his decision. Roosevelt then agonized some more, finally deciding to keep Marshall in Washington so that decision making between them would be easier. That left Eisenhower to lead all the Allied forces. Of course, we know the result. By the end of the war, Eisenhower had become the most popular man on earth, and he went on to easily beat Adlai Stevenson to become the next president. So, in retrospect, had Marshall taken the 'bull by the horns', he most likely would've been the new president instead of Eisenhower."
"That's very revealing, David. I heard the story before, but I looked at it as part of history, and you went a step further and put a perspective to it. Once again, history reigns supreme." She paused, momentarily lost in thought. "Yet General Marshall's legend in history is memorialized as the author of the Marshall Plan, which laid the ground work for the reconstruction of most of Europe west of the Berlin Wall."

"Hey, you two lovely people," Mista interjected. "Remember me? Already I feel excluded."

Aunt Jean chuckled. "My dear, you are always included, but I promise to continue a study of the past with David, only when we have some alone time."

"I'm with you Aunt Jean," David said. Turning to the love of his life, he said, "Sorry, babe, didn't mean to run off like that, but from all the wonderful things that you've told me about Aunt Jean, I know that she's a treasure trove of historical fact. I couldn't resist." Turning to Aunt Jean, he said, "I'll stop now, but thank you for opening my eyes about General Marshall's leadership contribution to the world stage."

"Now you see, Aunt Jean, why I respect David for his analytical mind," said Mista.

"And I can see why you respect Aunt Jean," David added to show his appreciation.

Aunt Jean, ever the diplomat, put a napkin to her lips. "My, aren't we all full of compliments. Now I shall add something about my
favorite niece. Ever since she was a small young lady with a dirty face, sometimes with bruised knees or wearing clothes that were hand-me-downs, Mista admired higher education. It's too bad that she didn't complete her schooling and go on to college. I know that the family fell on hard times when her dad could no longer continue with his own business, but I thought Mista would work nights to keep up her schooling. Nonetheless, Mista and I often discuss many subjects; her questions are often penetrating. Her interest in education has never wavered."

"May I ask a question or two about a very delicate subject?" David, suddenly serious, interjected. "I'm about to change the subject and I know that I risk Mista's anger or embarrassment, but I want to avoid a gap that is widening between us. I feel that I can talk to you about a personal issue."

Mista turned toward him in rapt attention. "Already I'm uneasy. What in heaven's name do you want to know?"

"Sweetheart," he managed to mumble, now no longer certain he should proceed, because of the heartbeat in her voice, but he pressed on. "I know that you are self-conscious about your folks, and you've kept them at a distance. I understand your feelings, but I think matters will get worse if we don't face up to it." He turned to Aunt Jean. "I hope that I don't put too much pressure on you or Mista, whom I love dearly, but I'm hoping we can sensibly discuss the situation."
As a sign of reassurance, Aunt Jean put her hand on Mista's, which was resting on the table. "Since David brought it up in my presence, I will respond if you wish, although it really is none of my business."

Mista had not taken her eyes off David since he brought up the subject. Somewhat overwhelmed, she frowned. "Is it that you feel, that with Aunt Jean joining in on the conversation, there is less chance we will hurt each other?"

"I hadn't thought of it that way, but that's certainly one of the reasons."

"Okay, I'll try to understand. Please go on," she said, unable to hold back the first trace of tears, which added to David's growing feelings of guilt. Yet now committed, he felt that he had to proceed.

He looked at Mista intently, kissed her softly on the cheek, and then facing Aunt Jean, he said, "Please tell me about Mista's folks and why you think Mista is hesitant to have me meet them."

"David, I can tell by the way that Mista looks at you, and from what she has told me, that she loves you very much. I think that she is afraid of taking any risk. Sometimes love creates its own set of fears. Family can and does play an important role. I'm the only one who is college educated in the family. That may be difficult for you to accept. When I join with the family on the holidays, I must confess that I find it difficult to talk to them at their level. For example, her mother does volunteer work at the hospital once a week. I usually bring the subject up, but her answers are the same each time, very
simplistic. New treatments or new policies are never brought up. She doesn't even mention any doctor gossip. Bowling, which is Herman's once-a-week hobby, is often brought up. Of course, I have very little interest in the sport and know less about it, so, to be courteous, I fake interest when they talk about it. I might add that's the night that he drinks with 'his boys,' as he puts it."

She glanced at Mista, who had not stopped dabbing at her eyes. "In all fairness to Mista, I think that is enough family talk for now. I see the waiter is coming with our food, so it's a good time to take a breather."

"Aunt Jean, please don't pay attention to me. You know how mushy I can get. David is right. Let's go into the whole subject."

Aunt Jean now recognized that this was going to be a working lunch. She took a bite of her sandwich, noticing again how much she enjoyed it, and went on, while keeping a watchful eye on Mista.

"During Christmas, I talk a great deal of the time to the grandkids and enjoy watching them open their presents. Afterward, we all watch television the remainder of the evening. They love Archie Bunker, who I admit is very funny. Of course, they are especially comfortable with him because he portrays a blue-collar worker."

She now directed the conversation to David. "I know that you will be patient, but you will be tested. They will be envious of your success and education. They will feel awkward in your presence. Your new political ventures will soon add fuel to the fire, so to speak.
Any publicity that you generate will, in my opinion, cause envy and perhaps resentment."

"Funny, I guess I knew the answers all the time," David said.

Because she recognized David's sincerity, Mista's worries lessened. She hadn't realized the great deal of emotional tonnage that had weighed her down since the beginning of the conversation. "Now I know why I adore you," she said in a voice still husky with her feelings. "Darling, if you ever feel too uncomfortable and don't feel that you can live with the situation in the coming years, I will understand. I don't want to place a crippling burden on you."

David turned to Aunt Jean. "What your wonderful niece doesn't understand is that I'm getting the better part of the deal. How many people are so outstanding and have risen beyond the restraints of their background? I have found a rare jewel."

Aunt Jean smiled. "Well put. David, you are a lovely man. If you so decide, I would welcome you with open arms into the family."

"And I you. I think you are a remarkable person; I look forward to spending more time with you."

"Da-vi-d." Aunt Jean had lowered her voice, slowly mentioning his name. "You're not patronizing an old lady, are you?"

"Aunt Jean, you're too smart for that. I meant that, although it may have sounded like I was polishing the ole apple," he said as they arose to leave.
Though she arose slowly and walked at the same pace, David adjusted to her stride, but he offered no help. He now understood her.

In the parking lot, he and Mista both hugged Aunt Jean and thanked her again. They watched her take small steps to her car, her balance uncertain at times, as she mildly swayed from side to side. Before the lunch had begun, Mista had told him not to walk Aunt Jean to her car or to open the door for her. "Now you know why she's my very favorite person. I never told you about the inscription she wrote in my graduation journal in high school."

"Really, I'd love to hear it."

"You promise not to laugh?"

"Laugh? Not a chance."

"I carry it around in my head, and every once in a while when I'm feeling a little blue, I recite it to myself."

"I'm all ears. Please go ahead."

Mista took a deep breath, apparently a little uneasy, but as she spoke, her heart opened up:

Mista darling, as you continue to expand your mind, follow your passion and channel your creative energies. Follow your bliss. Let your imagination roam, and as if by magic, miracles will appear. You have the freedom to express without fear of what others will think. Family and friends will embrace you as you are and shall not judge you, for you are an individual. Please retain that individuality at all times.

Have fun, be happy, and follow your path to fulfillment.
All My Love, Your Aunt Jean

"She writes poetically. That was very lovely," David said. "She may be old, but she's definitely not a little old lady; she still has humor percolating through her veins."

***

On the way back downtown to their offices, Mista said, eyes focused on the road ahead of them, "Mr. Sherwood, I both commend you and condemn you. Which would you like to hear first?"

"Uh-oh, this sounds like it might be a lose-lose situation. Tell you what: since I'm driving and have command of the wheel, if you condemn me too harshly, I will drop you off at the nearest bus station, or, worse yet, take you home right now for a little bedrest, also called a nooner, as payment to me for your abuse."

"That doesn't sound like punishment to me, but I will condemn you first." She fidgeted a little bit in her seat, sat straight up, and then in a stern voice, artificially contrived, said, "You have your damn nerve. How could you have raised such a private subject between you and me to Aunt Jean, especially at our first meeting with her? You put her on the spot, you certainly put me on the spot, and worse yet, you didn't make me look very good."

"I sit in silence and accept your condemnation." David then waited patiently, hoping to hear the better half of what she had to say.

"Mr. Sherwood, on the other hand," she said, her voice now relaxed, in a tone that breathed sweetness, "I can understand what
you did and why you did it. It's true; I was avoiding the subject of my parents, and as you would put it, a veil, or as I would put it, a wall was building up between us, which was unhealthy for our relationship. You purposely chose an awkward, perhaps impolite time to bring it up, but now that I think about it, you're a cunning old soul. You did it to keep our emotions in check. You actually took a big chance, but I do see your good intentions. All I can say is, you are one hell of a risk taker."

"In order to lower the barrier that was building between us, I would've risked far greater. For you see, my dear, you are worth it." He slowed the automobile, veered to the right lane, turned slightly toward her, and said, "By the way, did I ever tell you that I love you?"
THE VENGEFUL UNHINGED

POWER AND GREED AT PLAY

"We interrupt this program to bring you some important news. The next voice you hear will be that of Walter Cronkite."

"Good morning. I bring you important news. It was just confirmed by the White House that the Civil Rights Act has been approved by both the Senate and the House of Representatives. The bill will now be brought to President Johnson, who was an early and forceful advocate for the act and is expected to sign it. The 'separate but equal' doctrine is no longer the law of the land, and all citizens of the United States, regardless of color, race, or creed, are no longer required to be separated in public places or placed in inferior locations, which is considered an act of inequality. An analysis will now follow that will furnish you with the significance of the passage of this act. Again, good morning, and thank you."

The news of Washington's breakthrough traveled, approaching the speed of light, throughout the country. No one, even those in the remotest parts of the country, was spared notification of this historic action. The principles for which President Lincoln and his followers worked and fought so hard had at last established true equality for all peoples.

When David heard the news, he silently acknowledged all the truisms that were now implicit. The act included follow-up and enforcement; its significance went beyond the treatment of Afro-Americans as equals; it would apply to women, Jews, and other
minorities. Now the hotels, the country clubs, and the law firms in Tucson and elsewhere would open up their restricted doors. Granted, the personal prejudices and possible hatreds that remained in the hearts and minds of some individuals would continue in private settings. More years, more education would still be necessary, but the passage of the act certainly brought a new beginning.

***

David's secretary handed him a message when he arrived at the office. It was from Lyle Girard, saying that the plans were completed and ready for presentation to the neighbors. David called Solomon Beyer, who was out of the office, but fortunately, Solomon's secretary was able to make an appointment for them. When he met with Solomon the next day in his office, the man was effusive, happy to the point of exhilaration. Since the passage of the act, he had been overwhelmed with invitations to speak. "Isn't it ironic?" he said. "Now the color of my skin is turning me into a well-respected icon in the community. Suddenly, I'm very popular." He laughed.

"The fickle public has awakened from a deep slumber," David added, also amused.

"I understand it all quite well," Solomon said. "I just happen to be in the right place at the right time. So, my friend, on to business. What do you have to show me?"

David began with a full presentation, carefully articulating the features as displayed on the rendering, or as he put it, the "pretty
picture," together with the site plan, which showed the location of the important elements of the project. David could tell that Solomon was half listening at best, still preoccupied with his rising popularity.

At the conclusion, Solomon confidently said, "This project should be a shoo-in with the neighbors. They might ask a few questions, but everything is so carefully planned, and the project is directly in line with the development trends in the area; it will be a natural. I will heartily endorse it to the neighborhood."

"Well, thanks, my friend. My clients have put a great deal of money, effort, and years of experience into making this project workable in the marketplace. Since we have a few moments, unless you have to rush off, let's talk about our favorite subject, the political scene. What do you see happening now?"

"Right on." Solomon cupped his hands, creating an oval effect. "If I were holding a crystal ball right now, I would say that women are going to be some of the big gainers. One of the biggest breakthroughs will be in education. I believe that all minorities will now have a greater opportunity to get ahead. I will not be the only minority public figure much longer. It will be a very interesting progression to witness."

"Solomon, I have to hand it to you. You are very astute; I hope it all comes to pass. I personally don't like people living a downtrodden existence, especially if they are denied their rights for no reason other than bias and prejudice."
The two men continued to share their political observations. They ended the meeting with Solomon's commitment to call a meeting at once with the neighbors. He also would talk to some of the leaders in the neighborhood in advance of the meeting.

The two men shook hands vigorously.

***

Mason took the call at the appointed time.

"Are you free to talk?" the caller inquired.

"Yes, I'm free. Anything new? Have you spotted any vulnerability yet?"

"Not yet. I'm focusing on the fact that David Sherwood is chairman of Bart Langley's committee for county attorney and has just filed a petition for rezoning in a residential neighborhood for a new apartment development. I'll watch out for any hanky-panky."

"Stay close to the situation. There are big bucks in it for you; if you uncover something that smells of payola or secret promises, I want to know about it right away. If you decide to arrange for something to happen, I can assure you my lips will remain sealed. I don't care if it's phony or not. I guess you've heard of the 'big lie.' Bad news, even if it's manufactured, travels fast. I'm looking for results, and I'm counting on you."

"I understand."
"In fact, you should make it your business to infiltrate Sherwood's political campaign committee. Get close to him. Become his confidant. Keep your eyes and ears open. All we need is one slipup on his part."

"I understand. Will do."

"We will talk again in one month—same time."

Both men rang off.

***

Bennett Altman pushed David's office door open slightly and peered in the opening. "Before you go home this evening, please drop by my office. I have a few things to discuss with you."

"Sure. In fact, I was just about to wind down. I'll drop over in five or ten minutes. I also have something to run by you, which is kinda serious. Okay?"

"Good. I'll see you then." David always looked forward to talking with Bennett. He had long regarded Bennett as his mentor. His sage advice was consistently "real world"; David learned to be a good listener in his presence. Bennett had a keen sense of observation. David remembered when he first interviewed for the job with the firm of Altman and Silver. Be-speckled, with a comb-over from left to right meant to hide his ebbing baldness, Bennett's pinched features and slightly stooped posture belied the respect that he had earned from his colleagues over the years. Quietly he had developed a solid business clientele who repeatedly sought his legal advice and often
went over business complexities with him. Lately he seemed to be slowing down.

David checked his calendar for the next day, added a few notes to his to-do list, cleaned his desk, and a few minutes later walked down the hall to Bennett's office.

He poked his head in. "Ready?"

"By all means." Bennett motioned him inside, putting his pen in his shirt pocket, closing the brief that he was working on, and looking up with a grim expression on his face. "My friend, my young colleague, who is growing in stature, I have a sad tale to tell you. I'll get right to the point. I've already talked to Arthur about it. He understands perfectly. I don't know if you've noticed lately, but my energy levels have been running at low octane, and frankly, I have been forgetting things that I ordinarily remember. At my wife's urgings, I finally went to the doctor."

"And..." David proceeded slowly, attempting to hide his concern. David had a premonition that the doctor's diagnosis had dire consequences. For the first time in his life, David felt loss—a different kind of loss. Yes, he had recently suffered a tremendous loss when Julie opened up a hole in his heart. Perhaps he was overdramatizing, but he felt that Bennett was about to say something depressing; he kept a tight grip on his emotions and said nothing more.

"After multiple tests and being thoroughly put through the ringer, I was referred to two specialists. Eventually I sat down with them, including my personal physician, and they told me my life was
about to change." Bennett arose, saying nothing, and looked out upon the open skies, the silhouette of the mountains framed in the sunlight before him. Suddenly he turned, having apparently mustered up that which he didn't want to admit, and said, "I'm showing the first symptoms of senility. There are things I can do. Though it's not curable, the doctors were semi-encouraging; they said I can delay it for many years. They gave me the name of a nutritionist, to put me on a special diet; I must work on keeping my weight down. I always avoided exercise, and now they insist that I do a daily routine. They gave me the name of a trainer to work with. Then, as if they weren't already changing my life around, they suggested that I get involved in one or two new mental activities, and they did not mean new law cases. They mean something never before tried, such as piano lessons, Spanish lessons, or a new course at the university. They even suggested that I do a crossword puzzle each day. On top of all that, they put me on a high-dosage medication regime."

Bennett sat down again. "Excuse me for standing so long. Sometimes I get restless."

"Anything I can do...you know I'll be glad to do it," David interjected, almost apologetically, because he was stating the typical, boilerplate response.

"You can help me stick to a rigid discipline. Frankly, it's hard for me to accept. We all look upon ourselves as infallible. I can talk about it openly, but I know that in my gut, I'm in denial. I'm too young for
such a disease to rear its ugly head. My next birthday is coming up soon, and I'll turn seventy-one."

"Looks like, my friend, you drew the short straw." David stood up and grabbed the rear of an adjacent chair to press forward upon, as if he were lecturing. "Now it's my turn to stand. I don't know quite what to say. I don't remember a single day that you've been ill. You've always been the bulwark of our firm."

As David struggled to compose his feelings, Bennett seemed to grow stronger. "At first when I received the news, I alternated between bouts of nausea and actual pain in my stomach. It's funny, but as time passes, I'm beginning to get used to it. I'm going to try to refrain from delegating any of my workload as long as I can. There will come a time when I will have to lighten my load. I'll call a meeting with you and Arthur to discuss it at that time."

David noticed for the first time that Bennett's hands showed signs of a slight tremor.

"Fortunately, Ruth and I have ample savings; we've made conservative investments all our lives. We own our house free and clear, and I receive Social Security, which helps. Even without it, I'm financially sound. Ruth will be even better off when I pass away. She'd jump through her skin if she heard me say, but the fact is, she'll receive two million dollars in life insurance after I go bye-bye. There is only one mistake I've made. I hope it doesn't come back to haunt us. I don't have long-term health care to cover the possibility that I may
have to live in an assisted-care facility. Medicare doesn't pick that up."

Bennett began searching among his papers, looking for some notes. He finally spotted them. "I do have one favor to ask of you."

"By all means."

"Don't ever allow me to get letdown. If I get gloomy, disoriented, depressed, or fatigued, please take charge. Show me no mercy. You and Arthur are my support. I need both of you to be perfectly honest at all times." He handed David a slip of paper. "Here is my prescription to combat depression. If you or Arthur want to talk to Ruth, that is fine, or if you want to take it upon yourself to order the medication, go ahead and command me to take it, as soon as you see signs."

"Done. I'll talk to Arthur about it. Between the two of us, you will receive no sympathy. We may send you home, I may splash water in your face, but I won't act as your caregiver."

"You're my man. Now to talk shop. Please fill me in on your experience with Barney Stone. I know you've had a run-in with him. I can tell you quite a bit about him. Tell me how it happened."

"How the hell did you know about it?"

"Believe it or not, Barney told me. I'll let you know how and why soon."
"Okay," David said. "A few years ago, our mutual friend Sidney, who Barney and I both knew, passed away. You probably knew him too. I'm talking about Sidney Frankel. At the time he passed away, he was the president of a PAC, a federally registered political action committee called the Tucson Political Action Society, or TPAS."

"Yes, I knew Sidney; he was a real gentleman and very active in politics. I was asked to join TPAS, but I declined to do so because I don't like single-purpose organizations. I know TPAS supports Israel by making contributions to senators and congressmen running for office. My friends argue with me for not joining. They maintain that the Middle Eastern countries are pouring buckets of oil money into the pockets of our elected officials to bring down Israel. I told my friends that I understand, but there are times where I am opposed to some of the positions that Israel takes. I don't like to blindly adhere to any country."

"Bennett, take off your Jewish hat and put on Uncle Sam's. Israel is the only democratic country in the Middle East. They save our country billions every year because they maintain a military outpost as our ally. Otherwise, we would have to set up one or two military bases, and our costs would skyrocket probably to about fifty billion dollars each year. True, we give Israel three billion dollars in foreign aid each year, but that's a mere pittance in comparison to the easiest costs of maintaining our own military bases, and Israel spends the money they receive in this country. They purchase armaments from us."
"You do shed a new light on the whole issue. I may have to do some re-evaluation and allow practicality to prevail over principle. But go on, what happened after Sidney died?"

"I went to see Barney at his office," David replied. "At the time, I thought he was my friend and could be trusted. I knew that Barney was one of the leaders of TPAS, so I asked him for help. I figured that with his clout behind me, I would have a good chance of becoming the new president. Barney was very nice about it and said he would help. He lived up to his promise, and I was soon elected by acclamation at the next meeting. I then called a meeting of the executive board to start working on short-term and long-term goals. One of the matters on the agenda was to shorten the time that it took TPAS to support a candidate. Rather than always going to the full membership for approval, we asked that the executive board be given authority up to ten thousand dollars per month to support candidates."

"Nicely done. I must commend you. You sure do make it a good point to get involved, and with finesse."

"The best is yet to come. Listen to this," David continued. "I called a meeting of the membership to obtain the executive board authority, but before the membership meeting, I received a call from Barney. He said in a very commanding tone, 'David, Senator Stilwell is passing through, and I promised him TPAS would give him five thousand dollars.' I told Barney that was great. That as soon as the executive board received the authority, I could get the money. I asked him to hold off for about two weeks. He said, 'Did you hear me? I
made a promise now. I want that money now.' I said, 'Barney, my hands are tied; please wait.' With that, he exploded."

"Why, what did he say?"

"He blasted away—began shouting. He said, 'I can see that there is a problem with you. You try to be fair. You're not really very smart.' He went on and on and finally hung up on me. I didn't think too much of it at the time, but now I'm beginning to realize that a chasm has opened between us. It sure is easy to make enemies, isn't it?"

"What you say doesn't surprise me. I know Barney quite well. He's a control freak; he knows no shame. With him, it's all about power. You're a nice guy, but do you know how he sees you? To him, you are weak."

Bennett paused, looked at his watch, and said, "I have to get home to Ruth soon. She's trying to curb my hours. To close our conversation, I caution you to watch your backside. Barney uses his money to wield an ax, and he's willing to use it often to get what he wants."

"I'm sure he knows that you are my partner. Why, then, did he talk to you about me?"

"I think he wants to send a message. Barney and I are both on a planning committee for the Chamber of Commerce. He's very social, loaded with personality and good humor. He loves to hold center stage and do most of the talking at the meetings; he's not a
very good listener. The other day, after one of our meetings, we decided to talk over coffee. I think he used me to influence you to follow his dictates or else!"

"So what went on at the meeting?"

"Let me illustrate. He is a puppeteer; he likes to pull the strings and guide the actions of others. Because he makes sizable donations to various organizations, he has developed some close relationships, which give him an abundance of clout—so much so that it's almost unimaginable. I know that you have an idea, but you don't realize how far he has taken it."

"Can you give me some examples?"

"Barney is very close with the president of the university. There was an opening recently on the Arizona Board of Regents, which governs all the state universities. Although the governor officially makes such appointments, he closely considers the recommendations of community leaders or political friends, such as Barney, especially since they are of the same political party. A few months ago, Barney called the president of the university and suggested that Lionel Daley, who Barney had earlier placed as provost and who serves as the president's executive assistant, would be very effective on the Board of Regents."

"Very smooth—quite an operator. He certainly knows how to throw his money around," said David. "What I don't understand is, what's so important about the Board of Regents? What's in it for him?"
"If I know Barney, he's probably planning a private-public partnership with the university to carry out some colossal plan, or he plans on leasing some off-campus space to the university. In any event, it increases his power base. It doesn't hurt him to build up favors owed, which he can call due at a later time. I'll tell you another situation. Dr. Robert Fleischman recently announced his retirement from medical practice. Not too long afterward, it was announced that Dr. Fleischman had been appointed to the State Board of Health and would assume the position of chairman. That was Barney's selection. How's that for a raw exercise of power?"

"The man is ten steps ahead of everyone else." David stared, his eyes finding a resting place off in space, his thoughts darting to and fro. Slowly, he said, "Usually people with so much power get greedy. I wouldn't be surprised if he, sooner or later, makes a mistake and steps over the line."

"You might be right. Hang on, and I'll give you the true ballbuster and then tell you why I'm telling you all this. One of my clients has a large land holding in close proximity to another parcel owned by Barney. Recently, my client got word through the grapevine of a possible land exchange between Barney and the feds. Barney's land is pristine and is located adjacent to the Saguaro National Park. Barney has convinced the feds that they should add his land as an addition to the park to preserve the wildlife on it, and to make sure that private developers do not build on it. Once the feds were convinced, Barney then refused to sell his land, and pushed to
exchange it for fed land nearby with a great deal of frontage on Highway I-10."

Bennett slowly eyed David. "Are you getting the picture? I don't suspect any phony valuations. I think that Barney is too clever for that and there would be too many people looking at the deal. The point is, it's his clout that has managed to cut through the red tape and see that the exchange is worked out. He recognizes that there will be appraisals, and he will have to deed over his land, and pay additional sums to obtain the deed to the federal land. He's not worried; he's very patient and knows that in the long run he will make a fortune."

"OK, Bennett, I get the picture. I'll watch my backside."

"You must do more than that. He sees you as a comer, a potential threat. He wants to bend you to his will. It is necessary that you not only try to protect yourself, but that you outwit him. If he's ten steps ahead of everyone else, then you must be twenty steps ahead of him. Others fear him because he has so much money. It bothers him that you haven't sucked up to him yet."

"That may mean that somewhere along the line, I may have to align myself with another strong financial source."

"That's certainly one approach. Keep this also in mind: he considers himself the number one Jew in town among both the Jewish and Gentile communities. He wants to keep it that way. There are very few that can challenge his position. He sees you as a threat. He will try to thwart your every move."
"That comes as a complete surprise. I've given no indication what my future aspirations might be," David said. "I do like politics, even though I hate the phoniness, but I do see it as a way to better society."

"You've been tested, and you refused to do his bidding. I'm sure that bothered the hell out of him. Stay friendly with him, but if you can avoid it, don't ask him for a favor. You've already gotten a whiff of how he operates."

Bennett glanced down at his watch, suddenly recalling that he was late. Ruth had her way of making him feel guilty. Abruptly, he arose and told David that he was heading home. Hastily, he walked to the front door. Then, turning his head around, he asked, "Did I ever tell you about Bette Davis, the movie actress?" With a wry smile, he said, "When her acting talents were no longer in demand and she began to feel aches and pains due to her advanced age, she remarked, 'Old age ain't for sissies.'"

As Bennett left the room, David thought about the morsels that had just been fed to him. Bennett had opened his eyes; Barney was his adversary. His tentacles had extensive reach. As was made clear to him, David would have to remain vigilant at all times. Sometimes playing politics was necessary, and he, too, could play the game. When the challenge knocked on his door, he had better be ready.
THE VENGEFUL UNHINGED

THE NOT TO BE BELIEVED GALA

Mason couldn't help but admire Gino. He definitely was a superb planner. What he had done behind the scenes for the gala opening of Moon Glow went beyond anything Mason could have imagined.

When they finished construction four weeks before the opening date, Mason proceeded with Claude to arrange for an abundance of specialty food, gaming tables, booths, dining tables, chairs, linens, and a multitude of other functional and decorative details prior to the opening. They knew that there would be long lines of guests waiting for admittance to the event. Dignitaries and celebrities would also be on hand to witness the special entertainment. No names were mentioned except the star attractions, Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong, who were performing at the Desert Inn and the Sands Hotel. Gino's ability to arrange for their appearances was but another example of the man's clout among the undeclared owners that he represented.

Never before had Mason been showered with so much attention. Those who knew him observed his personality makeover that seemed as easy as a chameleon's changing colors. At the opening he stood at the front door, relaxed and gracious, smiling, talking to everyone, as if he had hosted many other similar functions. Moving in some of the top circles of Las Vegas society was becoming commonplace. Pictures had broken out on the entertainment pages in
the Las Vegas newspapers, Variety, the wire services, and publications in Los Angeles, Chicago, New York, and other metropolitan areas; each had picked up the story. The grand opening was big news, and Mason was clearly the man of the hour. He even learned to smile, and over time his smile grew expansively. His new image was becoming natural.

With Ronnie at his side as hostess, the uniqueness of their difference in height certainly became an item of gossip, but it served as an added attraction. For the evening, Ronnie wore a low-cut gown that rewrote the book on sexy. It clung so closely to her curved body, one would wonder how she breathed. Sheer, virtually nude in color, with impressionistic hues of light pink and gold, the gown resembled a scantily dressed female portrayed in a Renoir painting and added to the attractiveness of the couple. Mason was bedecked in a custom-fitted black tuxedo, which became his regular evening garb, when he was on the job at Moon Glow or the Desert Club. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that Moon Glow was now the first high-class nightclub for the working class in Las Vegas.

Droves of people converged on the open bar. Despite the fact that there were eight bartenders, lines formed. The entertainment had been planned to begin at ten, but so overwhelming was the crowd that it was postponed to half past the hour. Just prior to the appointed hour, staff began to assemble comfortable folding chairs in all of the aisles between the tables and booths. A special area close to the stage on the dance floor was taped off and reserved for the dignitaries. As they were being seated next to the governor, Mason
whispered to Ronnie, "Have you seen Pappy? I've been looking for him all evening. The invitations listed him as a cohost. Really puzzles me."

"I wouldn't worry about it too much," she said. "I'll bet he's working right now or doing something else that will be helpful."

The curtain opened, and the crowd gasped as Steve Allen, unexpected by anyone except Mason and Ronnie, strode onstage as the master of ceremonies. He had flown in on a charter plane from Los Angeles after filming his current television comedy show. As the oohs and aahs subsided, he began immediately without introduction, resorting to his usual quick wit and patter.

"Good evening to all of you who once were well mannered, quiet, and orderly. You are now boisterous and semi out of control as I appear before you this evening, knowing that with one mistake I will be the subject of flying objects. With that risk in mind, I want to thank our hosts, Mason Grewe and his lovely co-hostess, Ronnie, for inviting me. When I first met Ronnie, she surprised me. She immediately challenged me to an arm wrestle or a little one-on-one basketball. Being the jock that I am, I gladly accepted the latter only to be outshot, outrebounded, and demasculinized. We have gathered together many well-known people in the entertainment industry, who dropped by because they were promised abundant compensation. Did I say promised? Mason told it to me three times. Where have I heard that before? Promises, promises, promises! And have you noticed the publicity that Mason is receiving? Hell, my compensation
for being here tonight on this auspicious occasion is that I am rubbing elbows with Mason. As you are expecting, we have some very special guests to entertain you this evening. What will appear to be rehearsed is really quite spontaneous. So with that little bit of insight, I now introduce you to two outstanding performers who make a habit of being big losers at the tables. Fortunately, because they're big winners in their profession, they can afford the losses. Good friends on and off the stage, please welcome Little Caesar, Edward G. Robinson, and the former Mr. Elizabeth Taylor, Eddie Fisher."

The crowd broke out in applause as the two short, smiling performers, one known for his gruff, dramatic acting, and the other for his melodious singing voice. As they approached the microphone, Steve quickly asked the obvious, showing put-on concern: "Why are you holding hands?"

Robinson answered, "Eddie has always been my little boy. It's always been necessary because crowds intimidate him."

Eddie piped in, "One of the reasons I sing for a living is so I don't have to face the crowds. Hiding behind my music is my shtick."

Steve asked, "Are you going to belt out a song or two for us?"

"Sure." Eddie turned to his esteemed actor friend. "You don't have to hold my hand anymore, Daddy. Now I have my music to protect me." The orchestra began the musical introduction to one of Eddie's most popular songs. He tilted his head slightly and partially closed his eyes as his talent soon captured the audience with, "Oh! My Pa-Pa." He bowed as the audience clamored for more. He
complied, breaking into a medley of three more songs. When he finished, the audience was on its feet. Amid lasting applause, he backed away, turned to his friend, and said, "Well, what do you have to say?"

With a cigar stashed in his cheek, Little Caesar faced the audience, eyes leveled, and said, "I'm going to take you all into my confidence, see. I don't expect any of you to squeal. I'm sure you all treasure your knees, and my boys are handy with a wrench. In fact, if any of you are in need of car repairs, they also hire out. That's their day job. Then at night, they wait for my call, see. They get an address. They ring the doorbell. Very politely they say, 'Is the man of the house in?' When he appears, they hand him a wrench and challenge him to a duel, see. That's the way we play; we play fair. When neither side can reach the other's knees, my man says, 'Okay, this time you get off cheap. Squeal again, and you don't get a wrench the next time.'"

Suddenly, Little Caesar said challengingly, taunting the audience, "Now you see how easy it is. That's what I get paid for. Big money, and then I can lose it here." Then punching out the statement, he said, "S-E-E."

Voices in the audience punched back, "We S-E-E."

Steve walked back on. "Okay, Little Caesar, just be careful to tell your boys not to challenge Ronnie to a wrench dual. With wrenches twisted into pretzels, they'll lose their day jobs."
Mason turned to Ronnie, who had a big smile on her face. He whispered, "Honey, are you okay with these barbs? Is that smile on your face painted on?"

"I'm lovin' it. I don't care what they say so long as they're talking about me. This all never would've happened without you." She kissed him softly on the lips and folded her arms in his.

Steve thanked the two Eddies, paused for a long moment, and then with raised voice spoke out: "Ladies and gentlemen, I now introduce to you that well-known comedic hick, Red Skelton and the ever poised, the ever smooth, Dean Martin!"

Onstage appeared Red Skelton, wearing an on-the-shoulders, oversized denim outfit, entering from one side of the stage as Dean Martin joined him from the other side. Red took one look at Dean and began to hunch his shoulders and sway back and forth. In his typical "aw gee" hayseed voice, he said, "Shucks, I'm goin' to be upstaged again by another city slicker."

Dean, the casual cocktail-party-goer, holding a bourbon in his hand, graciously replied, "You've got to do something about those shoulders, my boy. You keep shaking like that, and you could develop a condition."

"A condition? What's that?"

"That's something that your bedmate says to you: 'If you don't stop that shaking, I won't sleep with you anymore.'"
"Really? I'll tell her that shaking is how I make my living, shucks and doggone."

"And she'll say 'Aw shucks' back. 'You'll be shaking a lot more when I get done doggoning you in divorce court.'"

"Tell you what, I'll quit shakin' if you'll sing a song."

"Now there's a reasonable man." Dean turned to the audience with a quizzical look on his face. "How come I could never work things out so easily with Jerry Lewis?" He turned to the musicians. "Play, maestro."

The maestro raised his baton, and the band began the introduction to "That's Amore." As Dean began to sing in his typical relaxed style, sighs of appreciation could be heard. When he finished, amid thunderous applause, he began a medley of "Baby, It's Cold Outside" and "Fools Rush In," ending with "Hey, Good Lookin'" and winking to the audience as he closed out.

The spotlight quickly shone on Red, who immediately said, "Gee, now I'd like to sing." Sure enough, he broke out into "Old MacDonald Had a Farm" and followed with two Kay Kyser favorites done à la Skelton style, "Three Little Fishies" and "Jingle Jangle Jingle."

As Steve began to approach the microphone, Dean and Red nodded to each other, nodded to the audience, bowed to Steve, and walked off to opposite sides of the stage, waving and smiling all the
way. When they reached the curtain, they grabbed hold, leaned their upper bodies back, still smiling, and waved a final salutation.

Before the audience settled back, a crescendo of music came bursting forth. No introductions were necessary; those two superstars of song, Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong, also holding hands, strode to the microphone. The crowd roared. Rising, they began to clap incessantly. Only as they began to quiet down did Louis, first famous as a jazz trumpeter, pucker his lips and begin a trumpet solo of "Hello, Dolly!" a hit tune that both he and Ella had separately recorded.

When he finished, Louis turned to Steve, beckoning him over. He turned to Ella and kissed her, and then, with his arms around both Ella and Steve, addressed the audience. "Welcome, all you equals." He didn't have to say more; the audience roared and began to stamp their feet.

Steve said loudly over the noise of the crowd, "Louis, you and Ella have always been equals. I don't know what took so long for this country to wake up."

Louis said, "Steve, I'm so proud of my country that I'd like to show my appreciation to you and to all of the beautiful people here tonight." The band softly began the introduction to his number one hit song of all time, "What a Wonderful World." The crowd grew absolutely quiet, as if they were in a hypnotic trance. His melodious, gravelly voice entered the hearts and minds of all those sitting in rapt attention. The song was so appropriate for the time, sung so
beautifully with so much meaning, that all would speak of this evening as one of their great moments in time.

After he finished the last of the song, he began to sing the final stanza again. Beckoning to the crowd, he said, "Please join me." He slowed down so they could catch the words:

I hear babies cry,

I watch them grow.

They'll learn much more

Than I'll ever know,

And I think to myself,

What a wonderful world.

Yes, I think to myself,

What a wonderful world.

Oh yeah.

Ella, who had been standing by, said, "Louis, you are beyond wonderful yourself." She turned to the audience. "I am humbled that what believers like Martin Luther King fought to establish so many years ago has happened. I only wish he was here tonight. Here is my tribute to Reverend King and to all of you. It's one of my favorite songs, which also was one of Louis's top songs. We're both proud of it. We both love what we do, ladies and gentlemen. I'm so happy to sing to you tonight what Louis already played tonight," and she began with the ever-joyous "Hello, Dolly!" While the audience began to move their heads rhythmically to the beat of the music, they couldn't help
but appreciate what this lady had accomplished during her career. Many regarded her as one of the top female singers of all times; she certainly justified the classification that evening. At the conclusion, she began talking above the crowd as she turned to Louis. "Louis, we're running late. It's time we move on, but let's close out the evening with a duet, which we recorded together early in our careers in 1956. The song, his last, was composed by that legendary genius of musical composition, George Gershwin, who died prematurely on the operating table in 1937 of a brain tumor before he was forty years of age. The song was released in 1938 after his death. His brother Ira wrote the words. It's called 'Our Love is Here to Stay.'"

"Ella, my dear, I can think of no better song to sing with you." They nodded to the audience appreciatively and began. She with the high-pitched, beautiful voice and he with the indescribably graveled yet still magically appealing voice. The two superstars held the crowd spellbound. Once again the audience was invited to participate in the last stanza of the memorable orchestration.

But, oh my dear

Our love is here to stay

Together we're going a long long way

In time the Rockies may crumble

Gibraltar may tumble
They're only made of clay

But our love is here to stay

When the song ended, practically all were in tears. Husbands and wives looked lovingly at each other. Their hearts were filled with the love of carefree days. All the guests would go home, forever remembering this memorable evening. What they had seen, what they heard, what they shared together went beyond their expectations. They were in awe that such an abundant array of talent appeared on the same stage.

The critics throughout the country reported the wondrous occasion the next day. Mason drew all the credit. His name was elevated from relative obscurity. He had leaped to the top of the A-list in Las Vegas. He soon would be sought after for interviews, fundraising activities, charitable events, and other activities that captured the fancy of the socialites and the media. The fact that Moon Glow's entertainment would focus on dancing girls in sexy, low-cut outfits, hips sashaying in provocative movements, would not detract from his reputation.

When the show ended to a tremendous roar, which lasted at least five minutes with the entire audience standing on their feet, the curtain came down.

Steve Allen came back onstage, aware that it had been a long evening, and ended with introductions. "We have many dignitaries
from the great state of Nevada with us this evening. We are fortunate that Governor Travis Taylor and Mayor Tom Landeen have joined us this evening." The two leaders arose, turned, and waved as the crowd politely applauded. They continued standing as other well-known names, some hotel owners or leaders in the community, twenty people altogether, stood up. Finally, Steve said, "This lovely new club, which is decorated as well as anything I've seen in Beverly Hills or New York, is due primarily to one man, who became a local citizen only a few years back but has quickly become recognized as a true leader. Would Mason Grewe please stand."

This time the applause was much greater. Mason looked encouragingly at the woman he loved, cupped her hands, and kissed them both. Turning to the crowd, he bowed gently, and with a big wave, he whispered to the air, "Thank you very much." Although outsized by all who were standing, he showed not a care in the world. With a broad grin on his face, he self-assuredly held out his hand to Steve, who walked off the stage to greet him. A photographer, who was sitting in the orchestra section, arose, asked them all to step a little closer to each other, and took a series of photos to commemorate the event.

The event had been billed as an all-night affair. While the impact of the entertainment was still prevalent in everyone's minds, the guests moved to the next room. They knew they, too, had a script to follow; gaming would now begin. Mason had brought in extra craps and blackjack tables for the special occasion, and the dollars began to flow with abandon. So robust were the profits that night that the
costs of the entertainment, the advertising, the food, the drinks, and all the staff were fully paid.

Moon Glow, now a fixture in the community, brought a series of firsts: it was the first meaningful off-the-Strip nightclub, the first nightclub designed and built for the working class, with popular prices for food and drinks, and the first to feature scantily clad ladies who would dance at a patron's table with the understanding that neither touching nor encounters would ensue.

Mason saw Claude from a distance; he signaled that all was okay. They had decided that Claude would watch the back door all evening. They knew that the guests would overconsume the food and drink, but it was Claude's job to make sure that the employees didn't get rambunctious and take supplies home with them.

Around two that morning, as operational routine settled in, Mason, having learned something of the dramatic in the past few months, guided Ronnie, hand in hand, outside for a bit of fresh air. As Ronnie looked out, she was taken aback by the huge assortment of flowers, which reached fifteen feet in the air, supported by a specially built trestle, which hovered over a queen-sized chair no more than fifty feet from the front door. As Mason and Ronnie walked outside, bystanders began to gather, wondering what was coming next, sensing another surprise. Mason sat Ronnie down. She had no idea what was running through Mason's devious mind.

He reached out for both her hands, kissed each one lightly, looked into her eyes, and held her gaze. In a low tone, he said what
he had been thinking he would say all day, "Ronnie, I have never loved anyone as much as I love you. Will you marry me?"

Ronnie was so startled, so overcome, that she buried her face in her hands, her body trembling slightly. When she looked up, she felt her mascara running. Aware of the magnificence of the moment, she barely managed to say, tears now streaking down her face, "I will. I do. I cherish you."

By then, the journalists and photographers, who had been attending the events inside, had rushed out, just in time to hear Ronnie's tearful acceptance. Lightbulbs flashed; photographers took pictures galore. The scribes were already busy jotting notes feverishly. The proposal, the unique floral setting, and the entire magnificent evening were soon broadcast over all the major networks. Photographs of the couple, together with a feature story spelling out the event, took center stage in a two-column spread on the front page of the Las Vegas Sun the next day.

In a moment by themselves, Ronnie whispered, "Mason, dear, I love the ring, and I loved your proposal, but hadn't we already agreed to get married?"

Mason's smile was as wide as his feel-good mood was long. "Yes, but this time it was official."

"And it just so happened that the media was on hand," she teased lovingly.
Mason's reflective wink acknowledged that he had played to the big, wide world.

Ronnie couldn't have been happier; she had picked the winner that she had carefully planned for all her life.

All that had taken place added to the aura of Moon Glow. It became one of the "in" spots around town. A few days later, Ronnie added to the decor a special custom-made painting, which depicted an oversized moon in the foreground and the blue Earth in the background, amid an array of stars in the darkened sky. That painting was one of the first things visitors saw when they entered Moon Glow. A framed photo of Mason and Ronnie was placed in the center of the glowing moon. Other photographs of the entertainers hung in groups throughout the club, together with a brief explanation below each photo. Across the room in another setting stood close-ups of Louis and Ella hugging cheek to cheek. To one side of these photos, a button and hanging headphones were available, for those who wanted to hear "What a Wonderful World," sung in full by Louis, and their duet, "Our Love is Here to Stay." A third artistic setting placed elsewhere featured many of the dignitaries.

It was almost four in the morning; the crowd was still abuzz. As the guests flitted from one to another in casual conversation, Pappy came up from behind and tapped on Mason's shoulder. As soon as he turned, Mason blurted out, "Pappy, where have you been? I've been looking high and low for you. Steve Allen was all set to introduce you, and at the last minute I waved him off. Pappy,
everything went so well; you deserve a lot of the credit for all the arrangements you made."

"Sorry, Mason. I wanted to be here earlier, especially for the entertainment. I hear it was sensational."

"It was, and I owe you a great deal. How you were able to set up the timing on all those appearances, I will never know."

"I'm very happy for you, Mason. Sure, I arranged for the flights in and out, together with the room accommodations and the other mechanics, but as you know, it was our silent partner who opened the doors to the celebrities. I may be overweight, but I don't carry the kind of weight that he does."

Mason nodded his head, showing appreciation for the man he would never see again. "I understand," he said quietly.

Pappy began to talk in hushed tones. "I haven't explained to you why I'm late. You will be happy with my reason. I want you to meet someone." Pappy beckoned in the direction of a slightly built Asian man, no taller than Mason, who had stepped back a few paces while Mason and Pappy exchanged greetings. He now stepped forward and extended his hand.

As Mason joined in the handshake, he couldn't help but notice the solid-gold cufflinks, the solid-gold Rolex watch, and the man's tie with a diamond stick pin, which had to measure at least five carats in size. Were it not for the fact that he was slightly balding, it would be difficult to discern his age, for the man bore a placid expression with
no visible signs of aging. Yet Mason figured he was probably around fifty years of age. This flashed through his mind: He would make onehell of a poker player; he has a hold on his emotions and would give absolutely no clues as to his card holdings.

Pappy said, "Meet your first Desert Club client, Aiko Hamada, who is visiting from Japan. Mr. Hamada makes frequent trips to the US to sell auto parts."

Hamada bowed slightly, and in a soft-mannered voice, said, "It is indeed a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Grewe. I look forward to your new operation with great interest, I can't thank you enough; I appreciate the invitation to be your first client at the opening of the Desert Club. Pappy has informed me all about it. I am encouraged by all the detailed planning that you and Pappy have undertaken, especially your emphasis on privacy."

Mason was impressed; Mr. Hamada spoke perfect English. He wondered whether he had been educated in the United States. "Meeting you for the first time is a true privilege. Will you be here very long?"

"No, I will be here one more day. I'm wrapping up a big contract tomorrow with Boeing, and I leave the following day."

"The next time you arrive, please notify us. Pappy and I would look forward to having you as our dinner guest."

"Thank you, Mr. Grewe. I may bring my wife on the next arrival."
"All the better. Perhaps you know, just this evening I became engaged, and I will ask my fiancée, Ronnie, to join us and meet your wife."

"I welcome your invitation. I'm sure that my wife would like to get to know you and Ronnie better. I would like to add my congratulations to you on your engagement. From what I understand, your fiancée is a delightful person, well mannered, and very smart."

"Thank you, sir. I am very fortunate to be engaged to her. She is a wonderful person, very warm and caring."

"I must now take leave, Mr. Grewe. I understand that you personally will be managing the Desert Club. I usually play baccarat and will play two hands at one time, if that is agreeable to you."

"That will be fine. We may ask for a larger deposit. We can talk about those details upon your next arrival."

Mr. Hamada slightly bowed again. Turning to Pappy, he said, "Will your driver be able to take me to the hotel, Pappy?"

"It will be my personal pleasure. I sent my driver home for the evening, but I shall take you myself." Glancing in the direction of Mason, he said, "Mr. Hamada has a friend who may join him, and they will play on alternate nights at the Desert Club."

"Ah, yes, I will inform you if Hiroshi Sato will accompany me the next time I visit. He is a manufacturer and the principal owner of a new company that produces quality compact automobiles. The
company is growing substantially, and he comes to this country frequently to set up new distributorships."

They exchanged good-byes. Mr. Hamada took a few steps backward with head lowered before he turned and headed in the direction of the front door.

As Pappy held the front door for Mr. Hamada to exit, he nodded in Mason's direction, and they exchanged knowing looks.
THE VENGEFUL UNHINGED

HOME IS IN THE EYES OF THE BEHOLDER

Run down could mean many things; it could mean shabby,neglected, too old to fix, or much more. As David and Mista approached the Cantrell home, it was, judging by outside appearance, shabby beyond description. David felt a tightening in his stomach. All the fears that he had imagined about her parents were seemingly coming to fruition.

Set back about three hundred feet off the road, ten miles in a southwesterly direction from the center of Tucson, the house had a rural setting, intermixed with a few subdivisions as Mista had mentioned, but that description was entirely too simplistic. David guessed that it had been built close to the turn of the century. He figured that it had so many creaks and leaks that Mista's parents no longer paid attention to them. Perhaps, when a roof leak began to drench them, they would patch it up, but they never would go so far as to replace the roof. That seemed to be the pattern with people who kept things too long in a neglected state. He momentarily laughed to himself as he thought of one of his parents' gardeners, who never repaired his car; he drove it until it stopped working and then sold it for a case of booze.

He looked at Mista, whose worried expression gave her away, or was it his stricken look that caused her to react with the fear that mapped her face? He purposely bent over and kissed her gently on her lips. At the top of a whispery breath, he said, "Don't worry, baby,
it's you that counts." His offer of assurance had little effect upon her unsettled mood. Nothing would work. She had dreaded this moment for a long time. No matter how much she had warned him, no matter how much Aunt Jean had prepared him, his discomfort was apparent. He told himself, Now I understand how Mista became a clean freak. The adage "Grin and bear it" took on new meaning for him.

The outside premises were barren. There wasn't a bush, a patch of grass, or even a wildflower to be seen; only a few scattered native desert cacti, greasewood, and weeds provided any semblance of greenery. David recognized that his coping skills would be tested. He regularly practiced relaxation during difficult times, but he knew that this evening would present a different set of challenges. Get set, he told himself, for simple statements, long pauses, too much talkabout the weather, and a great deal of squirming in chairs, mine and theirs.

Mista, aware of his plight, asked, "David, honey, would you like to turn back? I can call from a friend's house and make excuses."

"No, if I mean to have you, then I shall make it my business to get along with your folks. It will take some doing on my part, but that's part of your package. In a sense, it will be a good political test for me. If I ever do decide to run for office, I must shake hands and converse with people from all walks of life."

"You're right and you're wrong," she said. "As a candidate, you meet and greet people, and you move on from there. When you marry somebody, you're stuck with the family."
"Let's put a reverse spin on that thought. Did you ever think that you would marry into a family with a Jewish background? Fortunately, you've met my folks, and you like them, but that was strictly by chance. As it is, you've never dated a Jew before, and I'm sure you've had your share of adjustment."

"True, but there were a few Jewish kids in school that I met and enjoyed their company. I remember one in particular; he always wore a black skullcap and had long ringlets hanging from his sideburns.

We all laughed at him, but to tell you the truth, when I began to talk to him, he was fun and smarter than hell. He was always willing to help me if I had a question with our homework. I guess if I had been invited over to his house, the surroundings would have been very different or unusual, but I should think that the intelligence level would have been higher."

"Gong! You just registered the top of the meter. Great perception, my dear. You're just lucky that I don't mind when you outsmart me."

"Oh, I don't know about that," she teased. "You're so damn confident. You don't have trouble with anybody that matches you."

"Who, me? I'm just a struggling lawyer, barely able to eke out a living."

They drove up to the front door. He stopped and peered over at the love of his life; silence ensued. He quietly said, "Lead the way, baby." He got out, walked to the passenger side, and helped the agile young lady to exit.
"Okay, brave one." She went to the door. She did not need to knock or ring the doorbell. She opened the door and took David by the hand. As she raised her head, she leaned her chin forward, as if she had received a message from her knotty stomach saying, Mista,it's up to you to take control. They walked in.

Mista's dad, Herman, was watching television. He looked up and grimaced as he slowly got up, appearing to have a backache. He swayed to each side as he walked, bent over, his eyes focused at knee level. "So what do we have here? You're not a salesman, are you?"

"Oh, Daddy," she scolded him, "please don't be so silly."

"Hi, Mr. Cantrell. I'm David; glad to meet you." David extended his hand, but her father did not accept the offer, but David sensed he wasn't being rude; apparently he did not ordinarily shake hands.

"You're a fancy lawyer, I understand. One of those school types who always read and study, stuff like that." Mista's father spoke with a twang reminiscent of country life.

"Not exactly. I did plenty of that going to law school, but I still found time to play softball and hang out with friends."

"Well, don't expect any reading around here. We ain't got much schooling. We ain't very smart, but we're hardworking people. We use our hands. Mista doesn't like bringing boyfriends around. She's afraid we'll scare them off."
"Daddy, please. We just arrived. Give David a chance to get settled, to meet Mom, and to enjoy dinner together."

"I'd like to do that, sir."

"Well, I'll tell you one thing 'bout my wife: she ain't much to look at, but she's one hell of a cook. I assume you like old-fashioned pot roast with roasted potatoes and Annabelle's black eyed peas in her own special recipe. We're plain folks, but we're honest. We don't read the Bible, nothing like that, but we treat people in the good Christian way." Before David or Mista could reply, Mr. Cantrell grabbed David by the arm. "By the way, I'm Herman. Let's go into the kitchen. I want you to meet Annabelle."

"Dad, settle down. Mom may be too busy cooking right now."

"I'm sorry, honey. I didn't mean nuttin' by it. I'm friendly that way, even with lawyers and medical people and the others with ed-uuu-cation."

A voice echoed from the kitchen. "I'll be out in a minute to meet your boyfriend, Missy."

Herman said aloud, "Fine, Annabelle, but I'm hungry. Don't take too long."

They sat down on plain, frayed furniture. Mista and David sat on a sofa across from Herman, who sat back on a high-backed chair that showed its age, its originally blue now faded closer to gray.
Annabelle entered, wiping her hands on a soiled white apron tied around her waist. A product of too many carbohydrates, she was a stout, short person who appeared to have high energy. She wore rimless glasses on a rounded face relatively free of wrinkles, yet her decaying teeth gave her age away. "Land's sakes," she said, addressing David. "Don't we have a purdy one on our hands. You and Missy gonna make a fine pair. She's always been the purdy one in the family. She even wanted to go on and finish college, but we didn't want to hear about it. We weren't going to dig any more into our savings after Herman's knees gave out and he had to give up the plumbing business."

Starting to show her anger, Mista interrupted. "Why don't you just tell David our entire family history?"

"Now go on." Her mother met the confrontation. "I just want him to feel at home. No sense in not acquainting him with the family."

Mista flopped her hands on her lap in a show of despair. "What's the use? You never learn. And stop calling me Missy."

"Now listen, honey. You'll always be Missy to me. Others can call you something else, but they ain't family; remember that."

"Where is Aunt Jean, by the way?" Mista asked.

Herman joined in. "Now don't you worry none about Aunt Jean. We told her to arrive a little late so that we could all chat and get to know each other better."
Despair and impatience had grabbed hold of any of Mista's attempts to maintain composure. "Feel free to jump in and say whatever is on your mind," she said to David. "You might as well. That's what my folks are doing."

David chuckled. "I can see that this will be a lively evening. One of Mista's best qualities is that she's not shy. I can see now where that came from."

"You go right ahead," Annabelle offered. "We're plain people; we live in a plain house. Nothing fancy about us, except for our vegetable garden and fruit trees out back. You'll always eat fresh vegetables here. We grow so much fruit that we give away fruit baskets every season."

"That's interesting. I'd like to see it. I've never grown anything myself, but I can appreciate others that do."

"You don't strike me as one who gets his hands dirty," said Herman. "Most people who spend their time with a lot of books don't like getting on their hands and knees."

"Daddy, that's unfair. Maybe David does not grow things outdoors, but he works out in a gym and gets on his hands and knees plenty of times. Believe me, he does more work and sweats more in the gym than you and Ma do in the backyard." Mista rushed her words, her voice growing sterner.

Aunt Jean walked in. She, too, did not ring the doorbell. "Hello, everybody," she said in her sweet, soft voice.
Mista jumped up to put her arms around Aunt Jean. "I'm so glad you joined us. We're about to tell David our family history without anybody asking."

David and Mista gathered around to escort Aunt Jean to a seat, despite the fact she needed no assistance, while Annabelle departed for the kitchen and Herman stayed seated.

***

As the dinner progressed, Herman and Annabelle participated less and less until they gradually withdrew from all conversation. They had nothing to contribute while David and Mista maintained a lively conversation with Aunt Jean on various topics. David found the pot roast moist and very tasty, and matched Herman with extra helpings. It occurred to David that they were ignoring Herman and Annabelle, so he asked Annabelle whether she had grown the vegetables that had been served. Herman piped in, "You can bet on that, including the lemon cream pie coming up."

When the last of the dinner was over, David said, "I haven't eaten that much in a long time."

Annabelle arose. "Come on, young man. We'll show you what we grow. We country folk know how to till the soil."

Annabelle led the procession out the rear door. The evening's light was fading, but Herman turned on a floodlight that he had installed, which lit up the area as if it were daybreak. Unlike the appearance in the front of the house, the garden was immaculate,
totally free of weeds. It was apparent that they regularly watered the soil; the plants and six fruit trees that surrounded the garden were all in full bloom. David easily identified oranges, grapefruit, and lemons.

Now on familiar territory, Herman and Annabelle led a robust conversation, spelling out the different vegetables growing in each row and relating what was necessary for their care and cultivation.

David accepted their offer to take home some fruit, and at the end of the evening, Annabelle made sure to load him up with a full bag.

When they returned from the garden, Herman led his guests back to the living room. Annabelle said she would join them after she finished with the dishes. Mista offered to help, but Annabelle insisted that she stay with David. By the time they sat down, Herman had already turned on the television set. "Brady Bunch is about to start," he said.

When the last of the popular shows ended, it became apparent that Herman and Annabelle were ready to call it an evening. Mista and David escorted Aunt Jean to the door. They did not need to say good-bye or thank Herman and Annabelle for their hospitality, as Mista's parents were already halfway up the stairs.

On the way home, Mista, relieved that it was over, asked David what his feelings were about the evening. He decided that he would be very candid. "Well, I'm a bit puzzled. You told me more than once that your parents were not religious. Yet your father mentioned something about acting in the Christian way. That sounds pretty
religious to me. I don't mind him saying that; it's just that you told me differently."

"Oh, that. My father learned that expression at work. He says it to please customers. I've heard him say it once or twice at home before. He just says what people want to hear. He should've known that would sound strange to you. Please do not take that very seriously. Aside from that, what did you think?"

He glanced over while driving, taking note of her aroused interest, somewhat surprised that she had raised the issue. Although she was doing the asking, he felt that he had to watch what he said. He could easily hurt her feelings. Yet he knew that Mista would spot any polite remarks that he didn't mean. "As we said earlier, we didn't think the evening would be easy for me. I found myself internalizing, asking myself practical questions: How often will we invite your folks to our house? On what holidays will we see them? I certainly would not invite them to any Jewish functions. I think that would be very difficult for them."

"I've thought about that also. Your questions are pretty easy to answer, because I seldom keep in touch with them. I do have feelings of love for them, but as we've discussed, you can love somebody and not necessarily be able to live with them. If we celebrate Christmas and exchange gifts with my folks and my little sister and brother, who you haven't met yet, that and maybe one other holiday would be all. There are two cousins, who I know will want to meet you, and that's it. We will not see them the rest of the year unless something comes
up. Did you notice that during the dinner, once you began talking with Aunt Jean about current events, my folks shut down completely? They understand that they don't have much in common with you, and don't expect much from you. When we have children, they will enjoy them, but since we will be living on the other side of town, they won't see much of them. Your folks are a different story. I expect that we will spend a great deal of time with them. I know that it's a one-sided situation, but that is expected. The ways of life are just too different."

"You're very understanding, dear heart. The way you clearly see the situation is just short of amazing." It was apparent to David that her folks would gradually be frozen out. Who said that life isalways fair?

As they continued driving, Mista's thoughts began to race. Were her worries now over? David seemed to get along with her folks as best as she could have hoped for. She still wondered whether their love would be strong enough to endure those few difficult times each year when they saw each other. Suddenly, an idea that she had been thinking about, but had been putting off, returned. It was now coming on like a sledgehammer. There was a way to further cement their relationship. She felt compelled to take action. She would make the call tomorrow.

***

Mista tossed and turned all night. She kept waking up and asking herself, Will he be so upset that our relationship will come to ascreeching halt? Would David consider her a conniver, using his
religion as a lever to pry open his heart? She knew that she could notendure his wrath. Would he believe her when she told him that the idea had been on her mind for weeks? True, last night, after they left her parents' home, she had been prompted to take action. Other questions kept popping up. Would David find it too difficult to believe that Judaism offered her some identity? Despite her anguish, she clenched her teeth, determined to go through with it. "Damn thetorpedoes!" Her thoughts sounded aloud in her head.

She made the call the next day. A pleasant-sounding voice answered the telephone. "Good afternoon, Temple Emanu-El. How may I help you?"

"Yes, I want to find out about converting to Judaism. Do I talk to the rabbi, or is there somebody on staff that can assist me?"

"I will direct you to Hershel Berger, who is in charge of our adult learning programs. Please hold."

After a few moments, a new voice came on the line. "Hello, Hershel speaking."

"How do you do, Mr. Berger," Mista said. "I am interested in finding out about converting to Judaism. I understand that you are in charge of teaching the program."

"You're indeed fortunate, young lady. We conduct classes when we complete enrollment for five people. You will be the fifth one, which means that we can start immediately. May I ask your name?"

"I'm Mista Cantrell. Could you tell me a little about the course?"
"I'm very happy to do so. What I prefer is to meet with you and give you some reading material. At that time, I'll furnish you with a complete explanation about the course. If you don't mind, I have a few questions. Please understand we do not proselytize. We do not solicit people to convert. We open our hearts to all people who voluntarily decide that becoming Jewish will add meaning to their lives. So in a nutshell, the question is, how serious are you? Put another way, is this something you feel pressured to do or believe is necessary for a practical reason? You see, we don't want the choice to be a practical one. We want it to be based upon a sincere desire and belief."

Mista couldn't help but hesitate. Mr. Berger unknowingly had put her on the defensive. Yet she understood how serious it was to him, and no doubt, the rabbi and the temple members. "Mr. Berger, I'll try to be as candid as I can. I am dating a Jewish man. He has not asked me or insinuated that I should convert. I know him too well. He never will. He's not that way. We are talking very seriously about getting married, and I have become interested in the meaning and practice of Judaism. I have no religion. I was not brought up with any faith. I rather like the idea of learning all about it. In fact, I like to learn, and I'm so sorry that my education was cut short. Of course, we plan to have children, and that has entered into my thinking. I do think it is healthier for them that they are raised in a household with the same religion. Does that sound too practical? It's really the way I feel."

"If one of the reasons you wish to convert is to raise the children in a Jewish household, we find that a valid reason. From
what you have said, I think you are sincere about your desire to know more. When we meet, I will furnish you with a book that is the foundation of our course study. I will conduct the classes, but Rabbi Weiss will join us on occasion to get better acquainted with you and your classmates. May I say that I welcome you?"

"Thank you so much, Mr. Berger. When would you like to meet?"

"I have an opening on my calendar for the day after tomorrow. I presume that you are working, and if so, we can meet during your noon lunch break," he replied.

When she finished the conversation, Mista sat back at her desk, having placed the call during her morning break. She asked herself, Am I compromising myself? Was my answer to Mr. Bergerabsolutely truthful? Conflicts dominated her thoughts. A new questionnow added to her confusion. Was she being political? Funny, I'mthinking politically, and David makes political decisions almost every day, especially now that he is active in Bart's campaign. But sheknew that was different. Politics was business; it did not involve a personal relationship. She knew in her heart that there was no doubt that she loved David. She knew in her heart that she wanted to marry him and have Jewish children with him. Although she had not thought a great deal about God before, the complexity of the human body and of the whole universe had broadened her outlook on life. She now believed that a master designer beyond the reach of science might very well exist; that, then, would be God.
She called David. "Hi, honey. How's your day going?"

"I'm fine. I'm kind of concerned about you, though. Last night when we said good night, I thought you were experiencing a real downer."

"I'm fine today. I'm anxious to see you. I have something rather important to tell you."

"Well, I'm all ears. Where and when would you like to meet?"

"I took a long walk during lunch. The breeze is just lovely. October is always one of my favorite months. How about just sitting out in the park behind the courthouse? We can get coffee or a cold drink from the blind vendor in the courthouse and just sit on a bench and enjoy the breezes."

"You've got a date at five fifteen. Are you going to give me a little hint of what you've got to tell me, or am I going to spend the rest of the day wondering?"

"I don't mean to sound corny, but I think I will keep you in 'sex pants' until then."

"You're right. That's corny."

David arrived late. He spied her sitting under a mesquite tree in full bloom, amid clusters of bright-yellow flowers. Their soft petals swaying in the breeze served as a backdrop for her natural radiance. She was wearing orange, which added to her allure. He recalled the first time that he had seen her, during the campaign party at Bart's
home. Her beauty had been apparent then as it was now. Then, when he had started dating her, he had discovered her inner persona, the depth of her caring, and her warmth. What did she have on her mind? What had occurred since last night? Whatever it was, it was on display. She threw her arms around him. Starting with his left ear, she peppered him from cheek to cheek. "Wow, some greeting. I'm beginning to think you like me a little bit," he effused.

All her worrying, all her ruminating was seeking an outlet. "Like you? Not even close. I love you so much that every day I feel more alive than ever when I see you." She began to poke at his chest playfully. "I'm yours forever, baby." She drew him by the hand to sit at her side.

"I'm all ears. What has caused the makeover from last night? Did you get a raise in pay? Did you win a lottery? Or are you going to tell me that we're going to have a baby?"

"All right, I'll tell you now. I was going to tease you a little longer. It's something I've decided to do. It's been on my mind for some time, and I finally mustered up the courage to do it. It's a big step, but it's something I want very much." She paused, drew in a big breath, and said, "I'm going to convert to Judaism."

David was so surprised that his jaw sank; his mouth opened, but he uttered no sound. He was both surprised and totally in awe. When he became conscious of his failure to say anything, he said what was written all over his face: "I'm in shock. That's incredible.
What possessed you? I hope it wasn't anything that I imposed upon you." Yet doubt was beginning to enter his mind.

"No, my dear David." She rested both her hands on his and looked directly into his solemn eyes. "It's something that I've wanted to do for some time. I'm not doing it to sway you in any way. If you were to break my heart and turn away from me tomorrow, I would go through with it. This is something I want. I've never had a faith before. I feel already that I have some personal identification with Judaism. I have always loved languages, and I know that although I won't thoroughly learn how to speak Hebrew, I will learn key words, and who knows? Maybe I'll take Hebrew lessons after that."

David sat back. "Do you mind if I tell my folks about it?"

"Not at all. I don't intend to broadcast it, but I certainly don't intend to keep it a secret. In fact, I want your folks to know about it. I like your parents, and I want to do all I can to foster our relationship."

"Darling, I'm very happy for you. This is a big decision." David heard himself saying those words, giving her all the assurance he could. Yet in the recesses of his mind, something was bothering him. He hoped that he had successfully masked his feelings, for he knew that he had an inner wrangle to reconcile. For sure, he wanted to talk to his folks.

***

"Hello, Sherwood residence."
David recognized Maddie's voice. She had worked for the Sherwoods for over ten years. She often did the cooking as well as the cleaning. Mrs. Sherwood supplied the recipes, which Maddie diligently followed. The family shared her joy when the Civil Rights Act passed, and Mrs. Sherwood took her shopping for a new Sunday outfit to wear in church. Although Maddie welcomed her newfound freedom, she was quick to realize that time had passed her by, and she was too old to learn a new trade, so she was content to continue as the Sherwoods' maid. She did enjoy the fact that she could go to any restaurant, visit any theater, and shop in any store. As she put it, no one stared anymore.

"Maddie, it's David. Are the folks home?"

"No, David. Can I help?" He also recognized another change. She used to call him "Mr. David." Now he was just "David."

"If I barge in at the last moment, do you have enough food so that I can join the folks for dinner?"

"You're lucky; the Schulmans just canceled the dinner plans. I believe something sad has happened. Anyway, David, there is plenty of food on hand."

"I'm on my way. I'll be there in about thirty minutes."

"That will be fine. Every time you come over, the folks are all smiles. Since you have been dating that pretty girl, they don't see enough of you. You know you're welcome to have her join us
anytime. She's really very sweet and goes out of her way to be nice to me."

"Thanks, Maddie, for telling me. I'll tell Mista your kind words. See you in a few minutes." David quickly turned off the lights, closed the office door, and headed for the elevator.

His dad greeted him with a bear hug. "What a pleasant surprise. You'll have to tell us; we can't wait. What has suddenly prompted you to come calling?"

"I'm going to knock your socks off. You won't believe what I'm about to tell you."

"Well, I checked out my heart recently, and the doctor gave me a clean bill of health. So I think I can handle a surprise." He put his arms around David, and they walked together into the dining room as David's mom and Maddie came out to greet him.

"Maddie told me you asked if we had enough food. If we have to serve peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, you may join us anytime." She turned to Maddie. "Maddie, please make sure we always have plenty of peanut butter and jelly on hand, just in case." They both chuckled.

As the meal was served, Mr. Sherwood asked, "Before you begin to tell us what you want to discuss, tell me how Mista is and if you two are still getting along."

"The answer is, she is wonderful, and we are as thick as thieves. Yet she just hit me like a ton of bricks. I need you to help me
sort things out. I know where to turn for help on a business matter, but when it comes to personal matters, you are my gurus."

"It's nice that we can talk so openly. Many families contain their feelings. Instead of fortifying their relationship, they weaken it," said his father.

"I couldn't agree with you more, Nathan," his mother agreed. "It has always been that way. It has always worked and is really so easy. David, you know that if we ever hurt your feelings, we don't mean it. Sometimes the truth can hurt, but I know that you understand that what we say is from the heart."

"I know that, Mom. That's why I'm comfortable discussing something that has me a little crazy."

"Well, son, I seldom put down my knife and fork to just listen, but this time I'm all ears. Let's tackle it," said his dad.

"Okay, here goes. Two days ago, Mista and I went to visit her folks and have dinner at their house. I anticipated that it would be difficult, especially since Mista had been continually putting me off. I can now understand why. They are totally different. I don't mean to be stuffy, but they are the type that make fun of education, do little if any reading, and avoid abstract thought as if it were the plague. Our standards of living are entirely different. They have no belief system —not even a different religion. I don't mean to say that they aren't basically good people. Mr. Cantrell can be counted on to bring home a paycheck each week. In fact, the poor man has terrible knees and
appears to be aging quickly. It's too bad that he has to stand on his feet all day at his job; I'm sure he endures pain doing so."

David paused, noticeably aware that his parents focused on his every word, oblivious to the food set before them. "Aunt Jean arrived about a half hour after we did. When we all sat down at the dinner table, Mista and I began a conversation with Jean. It wasn't long before Mista's folks, who were quite talkative beforehand, withdrew entirely from all conversation. Before dinner they were the center of the conversation and mostly talked about what goes on in their lives. That appears to be about all they could talk about."

"I can very well understand your difficulty," said his mother. "Marriage can be difficult when you have little in common with your spouse's parents. They will, if not now, most likely come to resent you. Your education and your ability to make more money often cause envy. Probably they will find it awkward to be in your presence; of course, you will feel the same. It's cruel, but it may be easier if you and Mista spend little time with them, except perhaps for some of the holidays."

"Mom, you hit it right on the head. That's what Mista and I talked about while driving home. She had no trouble with that, but Mista remains worried that I will lose interest in our relationship. I reaffirmed to her that her folks will not interfere with my love for her, and that I'd make it my business to get along with them. I tried to soothe her feelings. Yet we both knew that only time would tell."
"Why is it that I don't think that's why you were in a rush to come here?" his dad asked. "What you have told us so far is what we generally knew and does not come as a surprise."

"Right on, Dad, there is more. Here's the bombshell. I met Mista after work today. She was beaming. She hyped me up just looking at her. I mean, she was dancing in the clouds."

His mother looked warily at her son.

"Then she told me. She had called Hershel Berger at the temple and told him that she wanted to convert to Judaism. After I got over the shock, I felt like a jerk. I know that she did it to strengthen our relationship, but I didn't handle it very well. I think down deep she wondered if I thought she was being manipulative. I can't deny that the thought crossed my mind."

"David," his mother interrupted in her quiet, reserved manner, "before we say any more, I think you should know that your dad and I are biased. Whatever we say, you have to consider whether it is sound advice. As possible future grandparents, your dad and I have always wanted Jewish grandchildren. Nathan and I have discussed this more than once. It's perfectly natural. We knew when you were engaged to Julie that it would be different. Reluctantly, because of our love for you and, frankly, our love for Julie, we decided that we must adjust, but it wasn't our number one preference."

"I understand, Mom. That makes good sense. Now how does that apply to Mista?"
"I'll put it this way. Knowing Mista as I do, I've always felt strongly that she sincerely wanted to marry you. I don't think she fell in love with you because you provided security, or because her stature would be elevated in the community. I always thought it was just a matter of time before she decided to convert. Probably you're right. She made the decision now because she was afraid that she might lose you, or afraid that your relationship was weakening, but if all that is true, I think the word manipulative is harsh. I feel that what she did was a true act of love, but she was prompted by the recent events to take action now. I wouldn't analyze her decision too carefully, because as I have said, sooner or later it would have happened anyway. I think you should look at it positively. She meant well. Maybe I never told you, but she has asked me about Judaism. She was quite inquisitive; she wanted to know what it stands for, what the prayers mean, and how to raise the kids in a Jewish home."

"I had no idea. That kind of makes me feel warm and fuzzy. Mista and I have never discussed Judaism. Dad, what do you say?"

"I think what your mother says is true. Although Mista may have made her decision to convert as a tactic to win you over, it was inevitable that she would have done so anyway. I do see that the timing of the situation shocked you, but when the shock wears off, I think you'll see that what she did is just fine. In fact, you may switch your thinking, so to speak, and admire her for her strong showing of love for you."
"Funny, I thought that you both would be offended, but now that you make sense of it all, I'm beginning to feel comfortable with her decision."

"Can we now begin eating?" his dad asked with a small plea in his voice.

As the apprehension that all felt at the beginning subsided, his mother said, "David, I must congratulate you. All the years we have eaten together, you have never told us a story that held us so spellbound. This is a first for your dad. He never before stopped eating and just listened."

"Are you now ready for the second subject?" David asked. "But please, let's continue eating."

After a few mouthfuls, his mother said, "Now then, on to more enlightened conversation, which only adds to the flavor of the dinner. So, my dear son, what more is on your mind in the wonderful field of romance?"

David silently thanked the heavens that he had loving parents whom he could talk to on any subject. He wondered, what could he do for them? He made a mental note to find out when their next anniversary would occur. Since his parents were financially secure and had just about everything they wanted, he thought of providing them with a cruise to Alaska, which he had heard was delightful. He sighed to himself, knowing that it would be a financial stretch, especially with marriage and the costs of a honeymoon coming up.
"Assuming that I can muster up the courage to take the next big step, my big question is, can I give Mista the same engagement ring that I gave to Julie? I'd like to do so, but does it make me look like a cheapskate? How shall I handle it?"

"I'll give you my thoughts first on this one," his dad volunteered. "I think Mista is so much in love with you that she'd accept it unconditionally. That doesn't mean you should take advantage of the situation. Yet as you said, the situation is awkward. I think you must first talk it over with her, but not at the time that you propose. I know that doing so is not a very romantic approach, but it is a very healthy way to keep your romantic feelings alive and well."

"Why, you old charmer," his mother chimed in lyrically. "I'm seeing another side of you that I haven't seen in many years."

"Didn't I tell you that I read romance novels on the sly? In fact, darling, I might surprise you even in our boudoir. Just you wait."

"Are you flirting with me in front of our child?"

"Heavens no, darling. I'm just doing what they say on talk radio:

communicate, communicate, communicate."

Giggles were now exchanged. David added his contribution to the sudden folly. "I'm getting embarrassed by this conversation."

As the merriment drew to a close, David asked, "Mom, you have any further thoughts?"
"Darling, there is no perfect answer. Once Mista sees the ring, she really has no choice but to accept it. You do run the risk that she will later resent it. Having said all that, as Dad says, it probably is worth the risk. Hopefully, her reaction will tell you her true feelings. It is very lovely, and it could very well be that she will adore it. I may be rationalizing, so keep that in mind as you decide."

As the evening wound down, David said, "You've really lightened my load. I now know what I'll do. I shall proceed. I've known all along that I wanted to marry Mista, but I felt constrained because I hadn't met her folks. I now know that I love her just as much as I loved Julie. It's a wonder of wonders, but I do."

***

Hershel Berger was a mild-mannered, small man who wore loose clothing that didn't fit well. The only things missing from his attire were house slippers. He was a deep-thinking Jewish scholar who over the years had perused, if not thoroughly read, every book encased within the wall-to-wall library in his office. This small, pious man conveyed a sense of nonthreatening warmth as he greeted Mista, ushering her into his office. They had agreed to meet for orientation before the conversion course started the following week. This gave him an opportunity to assure himself that her intentions were sincere and that she intended to complete the course.

"I'm certainly delighted to meet you," he said quietly. He pointed in the direction of a comfortable sofa, and pulled up one of the visitors' chairs across from her. "I certainly hope you are at ease.
Please feel free to ask me any questions that are on your mind at any time, and I will do the same."

"Well, thank you," said Mista. "Already I feel more comfortable. What concerns me the most is that I know practically nothing about Judaism, so I'm worried that I will feel out of place."

"Not at all, young lady. We here at the temple offer a helping hand to everyone. Those who are sincere about converting mean a great deal to us. As you know, we are a small religion, but our membership is generally close knit. Historically, we have been the victims of many conflicts and remain to this day outcasts in many societies. We are indeed flattered that you are thinking of joining the temple. I believe you mentioned over the phone that you were dating David Sherwood. He is a fine young man. In fact, I have known his parents, Nathan and Shirley, for many years, and they have been long-standing members of the temple. Shirley is active in the sisterhood, and Nathan has previously served two terms on the board of directors. We always encourage our members to attend Sabbath services that begin after sundown every Friday, but frankly, most of our members do not find the need to worship God that often."

"I understand the Sabbath is very important," said Mista, "yet more and more people of all faiths schedule most of their recreation on weekends."

"That is true, my dear, but using the Sherwood family as an example, though they don't worship that often, they maintain a Jewish life and conduct themselves in an honest and forthright manner.
There is also another type of worship that we respect; some people pray silently during the week or on the Sabbath among themselves."

"I understand perfectly, Mr. Berger. I hope when I complete my conversion that you will think the same of me. Please feel free to always let me know if there's something more that I should be doing. I intend to take this course very seriously."

"Very fine—with that, allow me to discuss the course with you. It is a twelve-week course. We meet twice a week here at the temple. I will teach the course. I know you work, as do others, so I have scheduled one class in the morning at seven thirty a.m. for one hour and one at five thirty p.m. each week, also for one hour. There will be no grades. If you complete your studies and maintain an interest in what you have learned, we will welcome you as a member of the faith and furnish you with a certificate of conversion."

"Mr. Berger, I do have one question. I thought a great deal about it, and even now I hesitate to ask you. I have been dating David Sherwood for quite a few months now. I've met his family and love his parents. I have never loved anyone as deeply as I love David. I'm very interested in taking your conversion classes, but what if I have been influenced by my relationship with David and my desire to marry him? Am I being insincere?"

"Of course, I cannot read your mind, but I can observe your attitude. You would not be human if David did not have a great deal of influence upon you. The very fact that you love him so much surely has a bearing upon your decision. We don't take forming a new
Jewish home lightly. The unification it brings into the home, especially when you have children, is very important. Additionally, once you convert, we can then marry you in the temple; otherwise, we would not make the temple available. Frankly, there are those, including some of the members, who disagree with this policy. Perhaps someday it will change, but that is the present requirement."

"Thank you. I just shed tons of guilt."

"I respect you for asking that question. I am sure that it took a great deal of courage to ask."

Mr. Berger then proceeded to tell Mista about the course. When he had concluded, Mista was overjoyed. She found Mr. Berger's soft eloquence and his very clear explanations motivating. She reaffirmed her interest and her intention to lead a Jewish life.

On the way home, the same questions reemerged. When she told David what she was going to do, his reaction was mixed at best. She knew why. She understood him. He was questioning why she was doing it. She wondered, What is David's reaction now that he'shad time to think about it?
THE VENGEFUL UNHINGED

NOT VERY NEIGHBORLY

David told his secretary not to expect him back until late in the afternoon. With a touch of cynicism, he said, "Meeting with the neighbors is always fun. There are always a few surprises, but I generally think things will go well today."

As agreed, David and Solomon met for a half hour before the meeting with the neighbors, which Solomon had arranged in the clubhouse of a nearby apartment complex. As David walked into a small office adjoining the meeting room, one look at Solomon told him to watch out. Solomon bore the grim look of a man about to be sentenced. "Solomon, it can't be that bad," David quipped.

"It's worse. You're not gonna be very happy, nor am I. I fear what the neighbors are going to say. From the scuttlebutt I've picked up in the past two weeks, plus the angry calls I've received, your project is in everyone's gunsight."

"Are you saying that the neighbors won't listen to reason?"

"You may have some good arguments, but I think emotion and anger will dispel any attempts to reason with them."

"What's brought this all about?"

"They're just in a foul mood; they don't want anything. They look upon you as the plague."
"Well, that's too bad. We may as well go ahead and face the onslaught. Maybe we'll learn something."

"OK, they are all here waiting to shoot you down."

Solomon arose, and without another word, walked into the meeting room. David quickly followed; the anger among the neighbors showed in their furrowed brows, tightened lips, and unblinking fixed vision as they focused straight ahead without looking at him. Solomon strode directly to the podium. Without any preamble or softened opening, he said, "Thank you all for coming. The purpose of the presentation today is to give you information, David Sherwood, the lawyer for Cavalier Homes, will now address you." He nodded to David.

David felt the heat rising as he approached the podium. He decided to keep his remarks low key. He paused and looked up. A few of the neighbors were just walking in, quickly filling up the few vacant seats. Those who straggled in afterward would go to the side or the rear of the room and remain standing.

"I thank you all for this opportunity. I will be assisted by Tad Ramsey, the project architect, to my left, who as you can see is placing the design drawings on easels. Allow me to introduce Victor Kane and Lyle Girard, who are the principals of Cavalier Homes."

Victor and Lyle half rose from their seats, pivoted in the direction of the audience, waved a brief salutation, and sat down.
"Ladies and gentlemen, Placita West is an apartment project that is a result of considerable planning. The purpose of this meeting is twofold: to demonstrate a project that we are confident will be attractive to its residents, and just as importantly, to see that your neighborhood is completely protected."

A man suddenly jumped up. "Mr. Sherwood, we don't need a lot of fancy words or any rhetoric. We know what you're going to say. I think it's more important that you find out what we have to say. I'll speak for myself. I'm Hector Brady. I'm against the project. It's just going to bring more traffic into the neighborhood and disturb everyone. Our neighborhood is located fairly close to the university, and I'm sure that many students will rent your apartments. You know as well as I do that they're party animals. They drink to excess. They drive their cars too fast. They make a lot of noise, especially on weekends, and will stay up very late and disturb everyone. We don't need any of that, and we don't want any of that."

An attractive, groomed lady stood up. "Well said, Hector. I haven't talked to one neighbor that is in favor of this project. We already have apartment complexes in the community. They have added traffic and noise to our orderly and quiet neighborhood. Some of the views of the mountains have been blocked. There is only one sensible purpose for the use of the property. Why not turn it into a park, where people can walk, relax, smell the fresh air, and enjoy God's green earth?"
"I understand your sentiments," David said. "I really do. I'm a resident in another community, and I am always concerned about new development. In this case, Placita West was designed with your concerns in mind. We anticipated what they may be and have eliminated them. As a matter of fact, you can expect that the value of your homes will increase, because of the enhanced value that will be added to the neighborhood. Mr. Ramsey and I will demonstrate this to you in just a few moments. I heard your comment about developing a park on the property. While parks are lovely, my clients do not own the land. They have an option to buy it. I'm sure that the present owners of the land would refuse to create a park, because the property is worth a lot of money and they would lose a great deal."

Five people arose in unison, all talking, one louder than the other. Among the comments, David could hear, "Go home, lawyer." Preconceived notions and general mob hysteria were working in tandem. For him to carry on would be fruitless.

When the outbursts quieted down, he calmly said, "I believe that for me to carry on would serve no useful purpose. We are set to appear before the mayor and council at a public hearing for a final decision. On behalf of Cavalier Homes, I thank you for this opportunity to meet with you tonight." He nodded to Tad. "Please remove the drawings and the easels." He walked over to Victor and Lyle and in a low voice said, "I'm glad you were here to witness this fiasco. Let's meet soon and plan for the hearing."

***
At the time set for the hearing before the mayor and council, the entire neighborhood arrived en masse. Their Association had also hired Spencer Moore, a well-known real estate lawyer who specialized in rezoning matters. The neighbors had met with him before and fully vented their feelings. Some, who loved stage settings, declared that they also would like to speak. Spencer recognized the type. Their arguments wouldn't be any stronger or clearer, but they were more likely to be emotionally charged. Spencer feared redundancy, so he attempted to delegate different subjects to them, but he knew that would be of partial benefit, at best.

The first half of the hearing was devoted to hearing the neighbors' opposition. Spencer made the opening presentation and effectively presented all of the neighbors' salient points, except for the park idea, which he knew was frivolous. By the time the neighbors began to speak, even those with assigned roles repeated many of the same arguments, oftentimes with charged, almost rude voices. Some demanded rather than argued their positions. After two hours, it was apparent that the mayor and council were growing weary and bored. The mayor, when it was close to the noon hour, tapped his gavel. "It is time for a recess. We will reconvene after lunch, at one thirty." In unison, the mayor and council exited through chamber doors.

Immediately, Tad excused himself to make phone calls. Within minutes after the recess began, as David was discussing strategy with Victor and Lyle, a young man approached David. "Mr. Sherwood," he said respectfully.
David turned, puzzled and somewhat amused by the intrusion, and replied, "Yes, I'm David Sherwood."

"The mayor requests that you join him in his office on the tenth

floor."

David looked at Victor and Lyle, lifted his shoulders to show his surprise, and said, "Please tell the mayor I will be right up." He turned to Victor and Lyle and said, "I don't know what this is all about. I'm just as curious as you are. I don't know how long the meeting will be, so it's best that you don't wait for me. I'll manage to have something before the hearing, even if I have to grab a candy bar." He walked out through a side door and headed for the elevator.

While waiting to ride the elevator to the tenth floor, David recalled that he hadn't talked much to the mayor, Lionel Kirby, since completing work for the mayor's father, Waldo. He really hadn't done much. He had tidied up some of his estate's loose ends and prepared wills for Waldo and his wife, Harriet. He liked Waldo and had become friendly with him during the job. As clients often do with their lawyers, Waldo had confided in David, telling him that he was concerned about Lionel's drinking. It really was his wife's doing. She was an alcoholic, but Lionel was clever and never touched a drop in public. Once he got home, he then began his drinking. Of course, Lionel's wife, Gretchen, had started much earlier in the day.

Gretchen's drinking had reached the stage that she would not go to any public dinners or meetings with Lionel, preferring to stay home and consume straight shots of tequila until she almost passed
out as she stumbled into bed every night. If Lionel could manage to get reelected two more terms, he would then have served twenty years in office and would be entitled to his retirement. Apparently his game plan was for him and Gretchen to then fade from the scene and hole up in their private world.

Nearing the tenth floor, David admitted to himself that this was one of the strangest sets of circumstances he had ever encountered. Though Lionel was a very affable person, David never expected to be called to his office in the middle of a hearing. When he stepped out of the elevator, he saw immediately to his left the familiar, dark-stained double doors bearing the gold letters, 'Mayor's Office' imprinted on a similarly stained wooden sign that had been bolted in place. He saw a light from within, and the two double doors to the office stood slightly ajar.

As David walked up, the mayor, always friendly, swung open the doors, offering his hand with a big greeting. "David, my boy, always good to see you. I just wish the circumstances were different."

David met the greeting with his own handshake. "Lionel, it's always a pleasure." He looked up and was completely surprised as Solomon drew closer, his hand outstretched.

"I've invited Solomon to join us. I'll tell you why in just a few minutes, but first come on in, and let's relax," said the mayor.

Solomon and David shook hands, and Solomon turned to join the mayor as he led them into his inner office.
The office decor was the same as when the city first expanded and moved all of its facilities into the high-rise building it had previously designed. All the furniture consisted of dark-toned mahogany, and the building featured beige carpeting throughout. Most of the offices were small, but the mayor's was considerably larger. An abundance of photos showed the mayor in the presence of presidents, members of Congress, and other elected officials.

As the mayor approached to take his seat behind his desk, David paid particular attention to the man's appearance, remembering the confidences he shared with his father. The mayor's wavy black hair was showing signs of gray around the temples, but he still maintained, though in middle age, a youthful appearance, except that faint red streaks meandered across the surface of his nose, a telltale sign of his closed-door indulgence.

"David, we don't have a great deal of time, so permit me to get started. Solomon previously gave me an update about what had transpired at the meeting with the neighbors, which was further borne out by their comments this morning. There is no doubt that your clients are entitled to the rezoning. It makes all the sense in the world. I know that Solomon thought it would be a slam dunk when he first met you. Although we cannot guarantee results, we thought we would let you know what we intend to do."

Solomon quickly interjected, "David, I feel bad. I promised you that you would get your rezoning. I've tried, but I am unable to reason
with my constituents. Please understand that I have no choice. I'm going to take a dive and vote against the project."

The admission stunned David. He had trouble accepting the unadulterated retreat.

The mayor quickly came to his rescue. "Don't worry. All is not lost. Perhaps you noticed that there is a missing councilman, Ramon Montano who is absent from tonight's meeting. He will be back in two weeks. I'm pretty sure that the other members of the council will vote in favor of the rezoning. I figure that Ramon will also go along when he gets back. Therefore, we plan on calling a continuance for two weeks, at which time there will be a full attendance. Since we lose Solomon's vote, we will need to get all six votes remaining. A simple majority will not work, because too many protests have been received within three hundred feet of the project."

David quickly sized up the situation. He had no choice but to accept their plan, which called for patience. "Frankly, gentlemen, I appreciate the courtesy that you have shown in asking me to join you to explain the situation. What you propose makes sense. I know that there still is no assurance how the final vote will turn out. I do assure you that I will maintain total confidentiality and tell no one what has transpired. I will only tell my clients that you are postponing the hearing for two weeks. Nothing will be said of Solomon's changed vote."

"I appreciate your avowal of silence," said the mayor. "Politics works in strange ways. I think the strategy will work."
As they walked toward the elevators, Solomon said to David, "Frankly, I'm embarrassed. I believe in always standing behind my commitments."

Recognizing Solomon's sincerity, David said, "Solomon, my friend, you know I understand thoroughly. I'm sure you also know that I will support you politically in the future." As he entered the elevator, he turned to them both. "See you onstage," he quipped.

They all smiled, both amused and relieved.

As he descended, David reviewed what had just happened. That had been a meeting not to be believed. He knew that the major purpose had been to soften the shock of Solomon's changed vote. True, no deals had been made, but what had just occurred stretched the rules of proper decorum. He wished he could share his unique, if not amazing, experience with someone, but he knew he could never say anything, because the meeting had the appearance that something shady had gone on.
THE VENGEFUL UNHINGED

FANCIFUL LAUNDERING

Once checked in at the hotel, Aiko Hamada, Hiroshi Sato, and Keiko Hashimoto, a third visitor previously unannounced to Mason, reentered the limousine and immediately departed for the Desert Club to deposit cash in US currency and loose jewelry, contained in three large suitcases, into three of the larger lockboxes in the club's underground vault.

When they arrived at the Desert Club, Pappy had previously instructed Mason not to greet them, although they all spoke fluent English, but to merely lead them to the elevator. Once he met them at the Desert Club he would tell them that he would be taking each of them and their aide with their suitcases in the elevator separately because the elevator had room only for four during each entry. For those who had to wait, beverages and current magazines, including the latest in Las Vegas entertainment, were available in the concierge lounge.

During each visit, when the elevator descended to the lower level, Mason would lead his two guests into the entry room to the lockboxes, then he would furnish them with instructions for opening a lockbox. Afterwards, he would push a series of buttons, swing open the massive door to the vault, allow them to enter, and wait in the entry room for them to reappear. When all three guests had completed their mission, Mason walked with them to their automobile and said he would await further instructions.
According to Pappy, the visitors were planning to use fictitious corporate names to funnel money into many American banks. They would set up multiple accounts; no account would exceed $49,000. They figured that they could avoid suspicion from federal regulators that way. Withdrawals from each account would be made as needed for investments. Because each of the guests was eager to wager, they decided to postpone other business discussions, with one exception, until the fourth day.

On the day following their arrival, Pappy would introduce them to a lawyer, who had been flown in from New York to organize the formation of the multiple corporations for each guest. Then, after each visitor gambled at the club for a day, on the fourth day a two-man team from the private banking department of the same New York bank would arrive to meet with them to attend to details. There would be no wagering that evening, as the bankers wished to entertain their honored guests and their newly acquired New York lawyer.

Since Gino and Ronnie had decided that she would work full time at Moon Glow and the Desert Club, Ronnie had been training her replacement to work for Gino, who was related to one of the overlords with undisclosed multiple-ownership interests in some of the hotels. The replacement's name was Marianne. Ronnie had assumed that she had been catered to in her youth and would not be able to fulfill the multiple tasks imposed by Gino. Ronnie was totally surprised; she found Marianne to be intelligent and well educated.
She took shorthand fluently, her spelling was excellent, and with an outgoing personality, she was anything but a wallflower.

In anticipation of the new arrivals, Ronnie left Marianne on her own and began menu planning. She placed orders for the ingredients to prepare unique gourmet sandwiches with a Japanese flavor. She spent hours learning the recipes and hours more preparing them with the assistance of a professional chef, who would make the final preparations. The chef would arrive at eleven on those nights when the club was entertaining a guest and prepare two meals. One would be a midnight snack, which in actuality was no snack; it resembled a lunch, consisting of a selection of sandwiches, salads, side dishes, and all the accoutrements. Similarly, beginning at three in the morning and running past the close of the tables at four, the club would offer a breakfast from a menu of specialty selections.

Ronnie, as concierge, would furnish special assistance. She would arrange for candies, beverages (with or without alcohol), and other special needs during the play of the hands, and she would seek preorders for the midnight snack. Aside from those few times, she would not enter the parlor room; she would remain in the outer entry room. Ordinarily, she planned to go home around half past three. Mason had suggested that maybe, if guests requested, she might join them in the midnight snack, but she declined. As she put it, "The club is really an exclusive men's club, and I would feel ill at ease. Further," she explained, "I do not know Japanese customs, but it might be out of place for a woman to sit at the same table and share a meal unless she is a member of the family."
Mason had already adjusted his sleep calendar to reflect the lateness of the evening that he had been working at Moon Glow, where he seldom departed before five o' clock in the morning. A great deal of his attention was required to manage and account for all the money at both operations.

Before the opening of the Desert Club, Mason never experienced such an abundance of cash circulating daily through his fingers. He thought back to his pushcart days before he reached the age of twelve, when he assisted his father in grubbing for pennies. He grudgingly remarked to Claude that his fingers were hurting from all the cash counting. Claude, to help him out, retained a teller at one of the local banks to tutor him on the fast and accurate counting of cash. He never did learn the knack for counting chips, which the cashiers managed to count in stacks of five, ten, or twenty at a time. Each week, Mason couldn't resist the temptation to tally up his percentage. In addition to his base salary of $100,000 per year, his 15 percent of the net earnings, after all operational expenses were paid, averaged $15,000 per month. Pappy, too, shared a like amount. His portly frame shook jovially as his miserly instincts were triggered.

"Mason, my good man, just think, we haven't even begun operations at the Desert Club. We will get the same percentage over there, and the operational expenses will be much less."

"You never did tell me about your conversation with Aiko before they arrived," Mason queried.
"From what I've gathered, our Japanese friends have each arrived with two million in a combination of dollars and jewelry to place in the lockboxes. That doesn't count the pocket cash each will be carrying for betting. Aiko told me he feels lucky and will be our first gamer. As you know, he loves baccarat; he plans to start with that game, but he said he may switch to blackjack after the midnight break. Apparently, what he's making in government contracts with Uncle Sam will more than cover any loss he may incur. Our job is to ensure that he will come back with his friends and other business contacts, who are also making vast sums, usually in government contracts, automotive, manufacturers' supplies, or electronics."

The next day, after the guests had deposited their valuables in the lockboxes, Mason called Aiko.

A man's voice, deep toned but mild in manner, answered, "Good morning, may I be of service to you?"

Recognizing that Aiko's aide had answered the phone, Mason asked, "May I please speak to Mr. Hamada?"

"Of course. I am Yoko Yoshida, Mr. Hamada's valet. Who may I say is calling?"

"How do you do, Mr. Yoshida. Although you were in attendance with Mr. Hamada, when he arrived earlier at the Desert Club, we have not been formally introduced. I look forward to seeing you this evening. Would you please tell him that I am calling? This is Mason Grewe."
"Ah, yes, Mr. Grewe, I also look forward to meeting you. Thank you for granting me the privilege to accompany Mr. Hamada to your club."

"That's perfectly all right," Mason replied. "I will try to make your visit as enjoyable as possible for both you and Mr. Hamada. Of course, gambling is a contest of winners and losers, but I am sure that will not affect our relationship regardless of the outcome."

"You may rest assured of that. Mr. Hamada is used to winning and losing when he bids on contracts. Please hold the phone. I will ask Mr. Hamada to come to the phone."

Mr. Hamada came to the phone immediately. "Mason, so good of you to call. I would have called you had you not called first. Before we review the arrangements for this evening, I must compliment you. When we arrived early this morning, although very little was said, I had an opportunity to observe the lovely interior design and the excellent detailed planning of the Desert Club. Professionalism and good taste are evident everywhere. I also understand that your fiancée, Ronnie, will be on hand this evening as hostess. As you will recall, I met her on the occasion of the opening of Moon Glow, and I found her to be charming. Now, please explain what the arrangements are for this evening."

Mason was slowly learning polite conversation. Always on the defensive growing up, he usually was short tempered and curt with his remarks. Ronnie's influence, the confidence that he was gaining through their shared love, and the lure of big money were
transforming him. Even he was amazed at his new deportment. "Mr. Hamada, it is my pleasure that you have returned to Las Vegas and that you are going to honor us as the Desert Club's first guest."

"That is most kind of you, Mason."

"We generally begin play at nine p.m. We can arrange for our driver to pick you up at eight forty-five p.m. If you wish to arrive earlier, perhaps to reenter your lockbox, we will be glad to pick you up at an earlier time."

"Eight forty-five will do. Yoko and I will be outside at the front entry of the hotel, awaiting your chauffeur."

"Very good. The chauffeur will arrive on time. I will be on hand at the club to greet you."

"I have one further question," Mr. Hamada said. "Will your driver be armed?"

"We had not intended for him to carry a weapon. He is well trained and licensed, however, and if you wish, he will carry a concealed revolver."

"No, that will not be necessary. I do want you to know, though, that Yoko will be heavily armed. That is a precaution that I maintain wherever we go, and I seldom go out in public without him at my side."

"I understand. The only armed personnel that we will maintain will be with our spotter and security detail, who will have a panoramic
view of all proceedings from a hidden position in the ceiling. I, as you might expect, am untrained and will be without a weapon."

"I would expect that," Mr. Hamada replied. "I will see you this evening, and let the contest begin."

***

As Mr. Hamada exited from the limousine, Mason went outside to greet him. "Mr. Hamada, it is a pleasure to see you again." Mr. Hamada was a slight man, short as was Mason, approaching middle age, with wide streaks of gray in his dulling black hair. He had a youthful, placid face that showed no wrinkles; his eyes were what gave him away, repeatedly moving in all directions, noticing every little detail. He was obviously thinking at all times. The man was no doubt cunning, and Mason quickly sized him up as a percentage card player who knew how to keep his losses to a minimum and create an opportunity for gains.

By contrast, his companion and aide appeared to be about thirty-five years of age, with a height well over six feet and the musculature of years of weight training. Yet he carried himself lightly and no doubt could move with agility, if necessary, to protect Mr. Hamada. "And you must be Yoko. I am delighted to have you as our guest, and I understand you will be at Mr. Hamada's side during the play as his security. That is perfectly acceptable."

Yoko bowed slightly in appreciation. "Thank you kindly, Mr. Grewe."
They exchanged handshakes, and as they did, Mr. Hamada gazed at the exterior of the building. "I think it's very clever what you and Pappy have done. The exterior of this building couldn't be plainer. No one would imagine the splendor behind that front door."

"I really appreciate your understanding. A great deal of effort went into the development of this concept. When we get inside, I would appreciate it if you'd furnish me with the names, including the spelling and pronunciation, of each of your associates and their aides. Please excuse us if we slip up and mispronounce or forget a name. Also, I will be glad to accompany you and Yoko to the second floor to view the lounge so you may relax. If you wish, you may stop play and adjourn to the lounge at any time, and take as long as you wish."

"You do have everything planned. Once again, I commend you," Mr. Hamada commented. Mason opened the unobtrusive front door. Though Mr. Hamada and Yoko had visited the premises earlier, they were now in a relaxed mood and could appreciate the contrast, as unattractiveness gave way and quiet elegance beckoned before them. Beautiful as they were, the surroundings did not scream out at them.

As they walked in, Mr. Hamada turned to Mason. "Before you make the introductions, please take me to the lounge so that I can appreciate everything that's been done." Mason strode quickly to the elevator door with his newfound confidence.
Claude was the only one in the cashier's cage. Mason nodded to him and said, "Claude, we will be right back."

Upon entering the elevator, Mr. Hamada remarked, "I see that you have a button to ascend to the second floor, but I don't see one down to the vault area."

"That is the one thing we do not disclose. However, the next time we visit the lower level, I will show you the escape exit in the event of an emergency."

What the two guests experienced as they entered the second-floor lounge matched the artistry of the first floor. Before them lay a spacious kitchen, a living room with a full bar, and a private bathroom with a full stock of bathroom toiletries. Mr. Hamada could only shake his head in pleasant surprise. He had expected a simple couch and bathroom, and instead he witnessed a very lovely one-bedroom apartment with a full amenity package. He muttered a few more compliments and readily accepted the underlying message that his hosts were sending: We recognize your importance.

When they reemerged to the gambling parlor, Mason introduced Mr. Hamada to Claude. "Mr. Hamada, please meet Claude Verdugo, who is very loyal and very efficient. I am thankful to him for his training; he is the one who taught me the procedures for operating at Moon Glow and here at the club."

The two men exchanged greetings, and then Mr. Hamada furnished the names of his two associates, Keiko Hashimoto and Hiroshi Sato, who would be playing the following two evenings. After
pronouncing their names, he wrote them down to provide the correct spelling.

"Before we begin, I wish to inform you that I will be playing baccarat until midnight, and then after a break, I would like to start playing blackjack until four a.m. I also would prefer to play two hands at one time."

"That will require two deposits," said Claude.

"I expected as much." Mr. Hamada reached into the interior pocket of his dinner jacket and withdrew two envelopes, each containing $50,000. Mr. Hamada handed the funds to Claude, who wrote out a receipt. Claude then mentioned that if losses did occur, the deposits were considered protection, but all losses would be paid by wire transfer at the end of play. On the other hand, if Mr. Hamada were to win, he could choose to be paid in cash immediately or by wire transfer.

"Thank you, Claude. Your procedure is very businesslike."

Mason then spoke up. "Mr. Hamada, I will be here the entire time that you are here. I may take one or two breaks and drive over to Moon Glow, but I shall return quickly. Claude will be in charge when I am gone."

"That will be fine."

The evening went as expected. By midnight, Mr. Hamada had lost $30,000 at baccarat, a low-percentage game that usually produced lower winnings or losses. During play, he displayed
concentration and focus, staying alert the entire time. Claude and Mason compiled written notes of all observable traits that they noticed. It was important that they maintain a record of the strengths and weaknesses of all their guests as a regular procedure. They also kept in touch with the spotters in the observation deck, who were specialists at maintaining a constant vigil, looking for sleight-of-hand tricks or card memorizations. At midnight, a shift occurred, and a new dealer was introduced.

Mr. Hamada and Yoko then adjourned and went upstairs to relax and freshen up. Although the club provided many toiletries, Yoko extracted from a small bag Mr. Hamada's personal selections of lotions, deodorants, soaps, and other hygienic materials. Yoko also brought out a fresh shirt for Mr. Hamada to change into after his nap. Mr. Hamada then lay on his back, closed his eyes, and quickly fell asleep. Yoko awakened him fifteen minutes later, as instructed.

When the two guests returned to the parlor, Mr. Hamada switched to blackjack and played until the end at four o'clock. Once again, the odds won out despite Mr. Hamada's calculated strategies. When play was finished, he had lost an additional $50,000. One of Mr. Hamada's favorite strategies was thwarted. Since the house played with ten decks at one time, even his keen mind, trained to count cards, could not keep track of the remaining cards in the stack. Further, as added protection, after two hours of play, ten fresh packs were opened and thoroughly shuffled for the next rounds of play. As previously arranged, five of the fresh decks were supplied by Yoko so that each party felt better protected against marked cards.
Before Mr. Hamada departed for the hotel, he passed up an opportunity to have breakfast. Although he had lost, he remained his usual mild-mannered and cheerful self. No doubt he was aware of the odds and knew that the chances of winning were against him. But he apparently enjoyed the competition and the challenge gambling offered, commonly referred to as the "action." The losses were insignificant, hardly a dent in his personal fortune.

***

Hiroshi Sato was a sharp contrast to Mr. Hamada. While Mr. Hamada was reserved and mild mannered, Mr. Sato insisted on being called Roshi and downplayed any formality. He was boisterous and often smiled, and sometimes laughed out loud when he won a hand; other times, he would slam the table or complain bitterly when he was on the losing end. He obviously did not play by the percentages. He just loved the game and loved to bellow according to his mood swings. Frequently he would joke with the dealer, smile or wave to Claude or Mason, and occasionally walk around the room to straighten out his legs before sitting down for another contest. Blackjack was his game, which he played during each shift.

During the midnight break, he asked Mason to join him for a snack, and he ordered one of everything on the menu. Mason found him very enjoyable. Both had fun comparing American and Japanese cultures and their respective governments. Ultimately, the conversation shifted to female conquests. Since Mason had little
experience with women before he met Ronnie, he allowed Roshi to expound upon his intimate encounters, and he had plenty to say.

By the time Roshi stopped playing, he had lost $225,000. When he approached Claude to settle up, he groaned, slammed his foot down, and shouted profanities in Japanese. When the time came for settlement, he then recalled that he had forgotten his account number to transfer the necessary funds. He dispatched his aide to the hotel to get it and return.

The third player, Keiko Hashimoto, fared better than his two predecessors. He was actually ahead while playing blackjack. Near the end, however, the cards turned against him, and he dropped $25,000.

***

On the fourth day, as previously understood, the visitors met with the bankers and had dinner in the evening with them. They all agreed to meet with Mason in the cocktail lounge at Caesars afterward. The purpose of the get together was to share good times once more before departure to Japan the next day. Mason happily expressed how much he enjoyed meeting with them and welcomed their return soon. He offered to run any errands or do any favors for them and invited them to contact him for any reason. All three gentlemen spoke kindly to him. Roshi, in his usual jubilant manner, joked about his losses without mentioning any amounts, and he, too, said that he enjoyed gambling in a private setting, where he could have a good time while playing. All three gentlemen congratulated
Mason on the development of such a unique concept and promised to return.

Mason accepted the adulation, knowing that all of the planning and capital had been provided by Gino and had been carried out substantially by Pappy. Yet as the host, he received the praise. He knew one thing—the three visitors had big bucks tucked away in the club's lockboxes and would definitely return.
THE VENGEFUL UNHINGED

THE MAN WHO COULD BE TRUSTED

The Barrio was one of Tucson's oldest neighborhoods. Its Hispanic style and culture dated back to Tucson's roots in the 1880s. Known for its adobe row-style homes, some of the structures had been standing for close to one hundred years.

Considered by many to be the original center of Tucson, the Barrio presented culture at almost every corner. The brightly colored homes with multicolored doors were one of the Barrio's most distinguishable traits. Many of the streets displayed artwork representing the strong presence of the Spanish culture in southern Arizona.

The Barrio was home to El Tiradito, the Wishing Shrine, often visited by many of the residents when they needed good thoughts. It also hosted El Minuto Cafe, a long-standing, popular Mexican restaurant, and El Parque de Mendoza y Orlando, a historical landmark. The Barrio consisted of a diverse community, furnishing shelter to students, families, young couples, and older generations.

Fernando Rios, commonly known as Freddie, was born and raised in the Barrio. His family dated back to the original settlers. He had many brothers and sisters and grew up popular in school, loved by his parents, and well adjusted to his surroundings. He was the third of seven children, and he grew to be the tallest and one of the most responsible. After he graduated from high school, he enrolled at Pima Community College and received a two-year degree, many
students would then enroll at The University of Arizona, but he chose not to further his education. He wanted to make money. His father, often called Poncho, though his real name was Pedro, was a close personal friend of the county treasurer, Richard Montego, who agreed to interview Freddie for a job opening.

The interview went well, and after the office checked out his school background, showing that he was not a troublemaker, Freddie was hired. They immediately placed him under the tutelage of one of the senior employees on the treasurer's staff. Within a month he learned the fundamentals. He had more to learn, but his tutor felt that Freddie would gradually pick it up.

Aside from the duties of his new position, he made it his business to learn about the functions of government, meet as many public officials as possible, and navigate his way around the courthouse. An unexpected benefit of being downtown was that he could hear all the scuttlebutt. He was a natural snoop. As he gathered courthouse gossip, he became a natural attraction to other staffers and those who traversed downtown, who sought him out for current news. In time he became casually intimate with many lawyers, cops, politicians, judges, and clerks in and around the various departments in the courthouse. He became acquainted with Mason Grewe before Mason moved to Las Vegas, having just enough time to mention that he was available for hire if Mason ever needed his services. More and more, Freddie began to realize that his many contacts could be valuable, especially if he discovered classified City Hall information.
He was a quick learner who took on more and more of Montego's duties. By the time he turned thirty-two, he was appointed chief deputy. Montego by then could think of little else except his retirement in two years. Because Montego took more and more coffee breaks and long lunches, Freddie was soon running the entire office.

Freddie did have one major fault. He was a petty thief. It began in grade school, when he saw others who had something that he wanted. The effect was similar to that of most kids who drool over someone's chocolate. He would steal paste, crayons, automatic pencils, or other materials belonging to classmates, and any school materials that he could get away with. It didn't stop in the classroom. Unlocked lockers in the gym and allowance money that slipped out from a friend's pocket were prey to his skillful fingers.

Gradually, he expanded his nefarious behavior to shoplifting in hardware stores, drug stores, and grocery stores. He began to harvest more and more, until he had a collection of useful devices and desired materials hidden away at home. His collection actually added to his popularity. He was very good at remembering birthdays and other holidays, and he would often make an unexpected gift to a grateful friend. Girls especially loved to receive his gifts of costume jewelry. Guys often wondered how he managed to date so many pretty girls and spend so little on entertainment.

He had casually met David a few times, when David visited the treasurer's office to pay property taxes for a client or went to the
recorder's section across the aisle to view a written document. When he learned that David was the chairman of Bart's campaign, he quickly approached him, after Mason advised him to do so, and asked David whether he could work on the campaign committee. His timing could not have been better, as David was just starting to organize a team of volunteers.

After David checked out his credentials and his standing in the Mexican community, he readily accepted Freddie as one of his top aides. David soon found that he could trust Freddie with responsibility. He made Freddie the captain of the downtown district, which included many of the banks, the lawyers' offices, the city and county courthouses, and of course all the associated personnel, including the judges in the courthouse.

The fact that Freddie worked for Mason Grewe remained a secret. His relationship had deepened as Mason prepared to leave for Las Vegas. Mason had approached Freddie and asked him whether he would like to do some undercover work. Freddie was fascinated when Mason mentioned it would be undercover, and he was elated that he would be paid. Mason told Freddie that he would be the spy, the mole, the intruder hired to seek damaging information that could disgrace David Sherwood. Freddie ignored any thoughts that he might be committing illegal acts. It didn't take Mason long to recognize that Freddie was a greedy little bastard.

When David appointed him as captain of the downtown area, Freddie called Mason to tell him. Mason said, "Freddie, you're on the
ball. Now let me tell you what to do. You've got to get some inside news. Read private files, listen to all personal conversations with Langley, and look for mistakes and confidential promises. Sooner or later one of them will slip up. There is one other approach. You could create an artificial situation that would damage David. Think about it. Plan well. I'm counting on you, Freddie." By this time Mason was making good money playing poker, so he told Freddie, "There is a big bonus in this for you if you succeed."

"I hear you, boss man. You're not paying me to twiddle my thumbs. I've got to earn my keep. It will take some time, but I will help you. Together we will bring David Sherwood down."

***

The hearing room was abuzz in anticipation. The neighbors packed the room for the continuation of the hearing. General feelings of elation passed among them. They thought the first meeting had gone very well. This time they appeared without their legal counsel. They didn't think he was forceful enough. They thought they could carry the load themselves. Every time a neighbor looked at David, or his two clients, scorn was evident.

David maintained a stoic position, keeping his eyes on the city staff as they prepared for the hearing. Although he couldn't be absolutely sure, he knew the possibilities were good that today's program of the mayor and council had been scripted.
Since his 'never-to-be-talked-about' meeting, he had hashed and rehashed his legal and moral position. Did the mayor or Solomon know for sure in advance how the other councilmen would vote? No. Did he make any deal with the mayor or Solomon? No. Did the mayor or Solomon violate any public meeting laws? No, because it took more than two of the council to convene in order to form a quorum. Were the conclusions by the mayor or Solomon binding in any way upon the other members of the council? No. Was he under any duty to disclose what went on? No. He owed a duty of confidentiality to his clients, since no illegal acts had been committed. Under the circumstances, he felt that it was his legal duty to keep mum. Perhaps an argument could be made that the meeting constituted improper behavior, but it was not his job to make that determination.

He sat back patiently. He nodded to Victor and Lyle, who sat next to him, but nobody said a word. He had previously excused Tad Ramsey from appearing. He did review some of Tad's architectural findings in case he thought they were relevant.

Tapping his gavel, the mayor said to the assembled audience, "Let the record show that we are continuing the hearing of Placita West, a proposed development by Cavalier Homes. I note that the neighbors are here, and I am told that their attorney will not be present at this hearing. I shall allow the neighbors the opportunity to continue with their remarks first, and then when they are finished, I will call upon David Sherwood, Cavalier's attorney, to speak. He will inform me if anyone else will speak at that time. Because many of the neighbors have already spoken, I shall allow them one hour to
complete their remarks. The clerk will keep track of the time, and all of the neighbors' arguments will cease at that time. I respectfully ask the neighbors to keep their remarks brief."

The neighbors proceeded in the same argumentative manner as they had at the first hearing. At the conclusion of one hour, David was called upon. He kept his remarks brief. He focused mainly on the fact that it was too much to ask that the property become a public park. He respected the neighbors' wishes, but it just would not work out.

The mayor rapped the gavel. "Unless a member of the council wishes to make any statements, it is now time for roll call." He looked in both directions. No one asked to speak. The mayor then said, "We will now vote. Will the clerk please call the roll?" One by one, the clerk called on each of the councilmen by name. Each remained seated and spoke into the individual microphone before them. One by one, each repeated the same one word, "Aye."

The clerk called upon Solomon Beyer at the last, and he announced loud and clear, "Nay."

The mayor then said, "I also vote aye."

The clerk said, "Six votes affirm, and one vote is negative. The required affirmative vote of six members has been received, and therefore, the rezoning passes."

The mayor rapped again, "The hearing is ended." All arose.
David whispered to his clients. "Please do not talk, nor smile. Let's meet for coffee. We can decide where once we get outside."

What neither the mayor, nor Solomon, nor David knew was that when they met in the mayor's office the night of the first hearing, the young man, named Paul Keltner, who had delivered the mayor's request for David to join him, had remained in the mayor's outer office, as was part of his job in case the mayor had other assignments for him during the recess. The door to the mayor's office had remained slightly opened, and the young man heard everything that went on among the mayor, Solomon, and David.

As fate would dictate, Paul was a friend of Freddie's. They were of similar age, and he often liked to talk with Freddie as they exchanged stories about political happenings among city officials. Paul made a lunch date with Freddie; he thought it would be entertaining to tell Freddie what he heard at the meeting between the mayor, Solomon, and David. Little did he know that the information he was passing on would set off shockwaves that would eventually reverberate throughout the community.
THE VENGEFUL UNHINGED

THE SMELL CHANGES DIRECTION

During one of their usual lunch meetings, it wasn't long before Freddie and Paul worked their way onto common ground: the scoop, insider news in and around the courtroom and City Hall. When Paul began to recap the meeting between the mayor, Solomon, and David, Freddie immediately realized the explosive nature of the conversation. His instinctive ability allowed him to picture the damage that could occur to David if the information were to leak; it could potentially cause havoc to David's career.

He said to Paul, "Excuse me, hold your thoughts. I'll be right back." Freddie raced to his car to get a legal pad so that he could take notes. He didn't want to miss any details.

When he returned, he said to Paul, "Sorry to ask, I just want to track what went on at the meeting accurately. I'll tell you why later on, okay? Please start from the beginning again."

Though he was irked and didn't understand why Freddie wanted to take notes, Paul went along, since Freddie was a friend, and started over. After Paul carefully articulated all that went on, Freddie couldn't wait; he felt a compelling sense of urgency, he had to talk to Mason immediately.

He knew that it would be too risky to call Mason from the treasurer's office, so he called the office and told them that he had eaten something that was disagreeing with him and he would not
return to work that afternoon. Since he was the treasurer's second in authority, they didn't question him. Then he rushed home, which was only five minutes away. Freddie's mother was just about to leave when he walked in. She told him that she had a meeting with her knitting circle but would be home in time to prepare cheese enchiladas for the evening meal with the family.

Hardly had she closed the door before Freddie placed a call. "Mason, this is Freddie."

Flushed with the success of the Desert Club's opening, awash with early profits that his wealthy Japanese clientele were kind enough to leave behind, Mason was in a jocular mood; he didn't wish to talk over mundane details with Freddie. "You're calling at a bad time. What's up? Make it short; I must get back."

"Remember you told me to be on the lookout for news that could wipe out David Sherwood?"

"Hang on. I have to close the door." Mason put the receiver down and shut the door. When Freddie said the words "wipe out," Mason was suddenly transformed. "All right, Freddie. I'm your man. Whattaya got?"

Freddie started reading from his notes. As Freddie related the story, detail by detail, Mason soon became fascinated, feasting on every word. There was no doubt in his mind that this was hot news. Like the breeze from a sudden gust of wind, contentment blew through him. He thought: Is it possible that the revenge that I have
been seeking for so long has just been delivered to me on a silver platter?

Mason said, "I'm sending you five thousand dollars. That's your bonus. I'll take it from here." Aware that David was the campaign manager for Bart Langley, he decided to contact Joe Tully, whom he met when he lived in Tucson and who was recognized as a leading political analyst, and also well known for printing smut.

It suddenly dawned on Mason that he could not confirm that the clandestine meeting with the mayor, Solomon, and David took place or verify what was said among them. Tully would insist on confirmation before he ran the story. That meant one thing: Paul Keltner had to be persuaded to relate what he had overheard. His eyewitness account was all that Joe needed. Mason knew that money worked with Freddie. Would it work also with Paul? Mason decided to call tomorrow. He couldn't call today; like a little kid, he had to enjoy his candy a little longer. It also pleased him that he had just received a sizable bonus from operations and could spend to get what he wanted.

The next day Mason placed a call to Freddie to tell him that he needed confirmation in order to run the story. He came right to the point. "Do you think that Paul will tell his story to a reporter if his identity is kept secret and he's paid big-time dollars?"

Freddie whistled. "Boy, I don't know. That's a pretty tall order. He may never speak to me again."
"I know that," said Mason. "That's why what I have in mind is to make it worth Paul's time. I think we have to work it out so that I can speak to Paul. Here's how I suggest you go about it. You call Paul right away. You start out the conversation by speaking in a low voice, to give the impression that you have inside news. Tell him that you can get him five thousand dollars, payable in advance. He'll want to know what you're talking about. You then say, 'I have a friend who wants to publish the story of the mayor's meeting. He needs your confirmation, since you were an actual witness to what went on. That's newspaper policy. They are known for their reliable protection of their sources.' Tell Paul the money will be wire transferred directly into his bank account."

"All right. I'll give it a try," said Freddie. "Maybe it will work."

"That's fine, Freddie, and if he agrees, ask him for his bank account number and to contact the bank for the routing number. Tell him we need the information for the wire transfer."

When Freddie called Paul and told him about the money, Paul's confusion was apparent. He asked many questions. When Freddie reassured him for the third time that his identity would be protected, that no more than an hour of his time was required, and that he could pocket $5,000, it tipped the scales. Paul felt guilty about it and told Freddie how he felt, but in the end the money broke down his resistance.

After Freddie gave him the green light, Mason called Paul. He did not disclose his name. He told Paul to expect a call from a
newspaper man named Joe Tully, who would set up a meeting with him in a very private location. Paul gave him the wire-transfer information.

The story broke as a front-page exclusive interview conducted by Joe Tully based upon information received from a verifiable unnamed source. The headline blared, "Clandestine Meeting at City Hall." The heading atop the three-column story that followed was "Mayor, Councilman, and Attorney Plot Rezoning Hearing." The story was full of innuendo, and more than once it alluded to the fact that a deal had been struck between the two politicians and the lawyer. Tully even went so far as to wisecrack, "I have a strong sense of smell. This story smacks of a fish market selling stale herring." To add to the onslaught, Tully highlighted that David was the campaign manager for Bart Langley. The insinuation was that David and Bart worked in tandem and that behind-the-scenes nefarious deals were part of their modus operandi.

When David read the article, his confidence was shattered. Never before had all the props been pulled out from beneath him. It seemed as if everything that he had worked for since he first opened his law office was about to disappear in a puff of smoke. He had no idea who released the story to Tully. He knew that it wasn't the mayor or Solomon. They would be too embarrassed and politically damaged. The fact that Tully phrased everything to make it appear that the three of them plotted the whole thing was particularly harmful. His first thought was to call Bart. He would first apologize and then resign. He had already damaged Bart, and he felt he had to end the
relationship as quickly as possible to avoid any further harm to his candidacy.

Before he made that move, he figured that it would be best if he talked it over with his seer, Bennett, whom he could count on to weave his way through the facts and come up with an answer, if one was available. What further made him cringe was the realization that he had damaged the reputation of their partnership. He even wondered whether an ethics complaint would be filed against him by the State Bar. He hurriedly walked down the hall. He was so riddled with anxiety that he failed to knock on the door and abruptly walked in. He was fortunate that Bennett was alone.

Bennett looked up and spoke first. "I've been waiting for you. I know you want to explain, so let's begin there. Then we have to make some fast decisions. Incidentally, you look like hell."

With a heaviness, knowing that his every word would be an effort, David slowly began. "I guess I'm naive. During the recess for lunch, in the middle of a rezoning hearing before the mayor and council, a messenger walked up and told me I was invited to the mayor's office. I had no idea what it was all about, but I went along aimlessly, almost as if I had received marching orders. Who could turn down the mayor?"

David went on to explain that Solomon had also been there to embarrassingly explain his change of vote. "Apparently, the mayor was there to explain that although there were no guarantees, my
chances would be improved if the council were in full attendance in two weeks, since six affirmative votes were necessary."

"I see," said Bennett. "So it was all quite innocent and spontaneous until Joe Tully got the story and twisted the facts. Well, my boy, it's obvious that a press conference has to be called, and quickly, to save Bart. It's true that it also may not help our office reputation, but I'm not too worried about that. The story will soon be forgotten, with no lasting damage." Bennett handed David the phone. "Call now. We need a meeting at once with Bart. See if you can set it up this afternoon. I'll let you decide where the meeting will be held. We just have to make sure that we're not followed or spotted."

When Bart came to the phone, David hurriedly blurted out, "I'm here with Bennett discussing the Tully article. Can you drop everything so we can meet you this afternoon?" David listened, nodded to Bennett to indicate a positive response, and said, "Two this afternoon at your house; we will be there. Incidentally, Bart, one other thing: I plan on resigning from the campaign. This calls for damage control. It's the only answer."

Bennett reached out. "Hand me the phone. Hello, Bart, this is Bennett. I'm not so sure that David's resignation will help. In fact, it may hurt you. In any event, it may not be necessary. That will be part of the subject of our meeting this afternoon. Also, please have your garage door open so that we can enter with less chance of being noticed."
When they entered through the kitchen, Bart was on hand to lead them downstairs to the game room. As Bart removed the protective covering, they sat down across from one another at a circular poker table. They all realized that Bart's campaign was at stake, and just as importantly, David's career was possibly on the line.

Intensity followed; the three men brainstormed, sometimes locking horns, yet recognizing that whatever anyone said was intended for the greater good. More than once David offered to resign; they politely ignored him. As they weighed what had been said at the meeting with the mayor and Solomon, they began to unravel the truth.

Bennett was the first to say, "David, I'm not even sure that you're at fault. It makes no sense to resign. As I see it, the mayor and Solomon meant well. They wanted to explain the situation to you, probably so that your relationship with Solomon would not be damaged. In hindsight, they took stupid chances. It was risky as hell to meet with you in a public building in the middle of a hearing."

Bart asked Bennett, "What do you suggest?"

"I think we should put Joe Tully on trial. Confront him straight on. Show the man for what he is. I would use his words to demonstrate how willfully manipulative he is. He is an artist when it comes to twisting the truth. I'm glad, David, that you thought ahead and had your secretary call the media people for a press conference tomorrow."
David brightened. "When we sat down for this meeting today, I never expected to say, 'I'm confident enough to meet the press tomorrow.' You both have been a great help. I shall make it perfectly clear that I have no intention of resigning."

Bart added, "I don't think that Bennett or I should attend tomorrow. What I will do is set up my own press conference for the day afterward. I'll make it perfectly clear that I want you to continue on as chairman."

As they were about to leave, Bennett said to David, "Go get 'em, tiger."

***

The Westward Look hotel was a distinctive resort, depicting Western architecture at the base of the Catalina Mountains. It was known for its outdoor activities, offering swimming, tennis, hiking, biking, and horseback riding amid splendid mountain views. Guests who sought the serenity and charm of the past were not disappointed. Originally built in the early 1900s on eighty acres as a guest ranch, it evolved under different ownerships and multiple developments into a sizable, well-recognized resort.

David rented a meeting room for the afternoon, and refreshments, including coffee, tea, and lemonade, complemented by peaches and spiced oranges, were offered. Numerous newspaper reporters, together with television and radio station personnel, were in attendance for the press conference. In the second row sat Joe Tully.
He was a bony-faced, very thin, bald man who had a profile that looked like a question mark with flesh added.

David sat alone at a head table in the front of the room, hands folded before him, with a few notes jotted down on a single sheet of paper to his right. He waited patiently to allow extra time for the camera crews to set up, and then at ten minutes past two, he arose and strode to the adjacent standing lectern.

"I wish to thank each of you personally for attending this meeting on such short notice. Allow me to take this opportunity to tell you that I do not intend to pull any punches. I am going to deal with the facts only, and I shall attempt to neither exaggerate nor minimize their meaning. As you are all aware, I have been the subject of a newspaper article written by Mr. Tully, who I see is seated here this afternoon. In so many words, either by innuendo or direct frontal attack, he has led the public to believe that I was involved in making a deal with Mayor Kirby and Councilman Beyer. He compared our actions to those of a fish market that sold stale herring, and he made it quite clear that the obnoxious odor from the fish was reflective of our conduct. What Mr. Tully has done quite cleverly is to slant the truth, exaggerate the facts, and defame the individuals involved. I trust that he did not intend to do it maliciously, but only, as they say in the trade, to sell more newspapers. Additionally, the headlines screamed of deal making."

David paused for a moment. He reached within the lectern's opening on the speaker's side and extracted a glass of water. He
swallowed twice. Any nervousness he might have felt when he first rose to speak was gone. He was now angry, and Mr. Tully was his prime target.

"Mr. Tully talks of deal making. How is that possible? Since when can the mayor and one councilman make a deal or speak for the whole council? They can't and they didn't. Yet Mr. Tully painted an entirely different picture. At most, the meeting could have been labeled a strategy meeting. So I ask, since when is discussing strategy binding on anyone? As I told you at the beginning of my remarks today, I would deal only with the facts in an accurate manner. Thus, there is one remaining question: Was there anything wrong with our meeting? Certainly it was not illegal. As a matter of propriety, it would have been better if I had not been invited to the meeting. It just so happens that the mayor had decided before I arrived to postpone the hearing for two weeks until the council would be in full attendance. I found that out after he had made the decision. In my opinion, it was wise that he did so, because the law requires six affirmative votes to pass the rezoning. Although it ended up benefiting my clients, there were no guarantees that six votes would be obtained. It was simply the right thing to do, since Councilman Beyer, contrary to his earlier promise, had declared he would vote against the rezoning contrary to his earlier intentions.

"Some people have raised the question of whether I will resign from Bart Langley's campaign as his chairman. I have no such intention. I have done no wrong. I was an innocent attendee at the meeting. I listened to their strategy without making any comment. It's
now clear that I was asked to join them at the meeting as a matter of courtesy. Further, Solomon wanted to explain his decision. That was it, pure and simple."

He looked around the room. "Should any of you have any questions, I will be glad to answer them. In conclusion, I wish to point out that I feel that I am the victim of a gross distortion and attack on my integrity by Mr. Tully. Thank you very much."

David remained standing at the lectern. Surprisingly, the audience had very few questions. Then, slowly, Joe Tully arose. The round-shouldered, bony man, more stooped than usual, slowly, as if he were carrying a great weight on his shoulders, walked down the aisle from his seat. As he approached the exit, he stopped momentarily and said weakly, "I'm sorry." He walked out the door.

Joe Tully's "I'm sorry" was the subject of every media newscast the next day. Mason Grewe tried to hide his pain while working, but his misery showed to all who knew him. Because he went to work early, he was able to hide his feelings from Ronnie. He maintained a running conversation with himself, finally admitting that David Sherwood had for the second time outwitted him. While alone, as if David were present, he said aloud, "There will be a third round. You haven't won yet."

Bart's press conference, conducted the following day, was supportive of David, as expected. He expressly ruled against and refused any idea that David Sherwood resign from the campaign and reinforced his absolute confidence in him.
The news that followed the two press conferences was positive. Articles began to appear admiring David Sherwood's courage under fire. Bart's ratings in the polls edged higher.

When Bart and David had a chance to talk between themselves, they recognized that Bennett had made a major contribution. His keen insights and ability to focus on what was truly significant were of major importance to them. Bennett's recommendation that David confront Joe Tully directly was brilliant.

As David admitted, "I never would've had the nerve to oppose Tully without Bennett's advice and encouragement."

Two days later, Bart and David, with respect obvious on their smiling faces, entered Bennett's office, after his secretary notified them that he was alone. Without a word, they approached his desk and placed before him a gold Montblanc pen and pencil set bearing the inscription Bennett Altman—A Man of Nobility.

Bennett, known for his caustic humor, lashed out. "What, no cash!" He wasn't fooling anyone; the tears in his eyes disclosed his true feelings.

Bart summed it up. "Bennett, you are now also my mentor."

Though he didn't say it at the time, Bennett, conscious of the fact that he was nearing the end of his life, had never before been so moved.

***
The mayor and Solomon met a few days after the press conference. This time the office door was closed. The mayor said, "Solomon, I'm terribly embarrassed. I've been doing a lot of thinking. I think I can nail down how the news of our meeting got out. As I recall, David was the last to enter my office, and I don't believe he shut the door. My assistant, Paul, was still in the outer office. It was his duty to remain on hand in case I needed him. I think he broke his duty of confidentiality."

"Let's haul his ass in and confront him," Solomon said, lashing out angrily. "If he's the one, I hope he'll be proud when I tell him that he probably destroyed my political career. Already the feedback that I'm getting from the neighbors is devastating. Sure, they know I voted their way, but they also know I did not vote the way I believed. When it came out at the press conference that I was going to take a dive, the whole neighborhood got pissed off. I've been called by one angry person after the other so many damn times that I'm thinking of resigning."

"I hear you loud and clear. I know you're angry, but we had better wait sixty days before confronting Paul. If the news gets out that we fired him, it may set off another wave of negative headlines. I can see the headline now, 'Mayor Fires Whistleblower.'"

"What will happen in sixty days?"

"The news of our meeting with David will have quieted down. If we cut Paul loose then, I doubt if it will generate any news. As for Paul, I'll take care of him and report what happens to you."
Then, the mayor, in an uncustomary manner, came out from behind his desk. He put both hands on Solomon's shoulders while he remained seated. "Solomon, I know the hell you're going through. I'm older than you, and I've suffered through many political fires in my day. They come and they go. Patience is definitely a virtue in these situations. I definitely would not resign. I, personally, don't want you to go. The whole thing may blow over, including the anger of the neighbors. It all depends on what good things you are able to accomplish in the next two years before reelection. There is every chance that the neighbors will see that it all balances out, and the advantages you bring to the ward outweigh this one unfortunate outcome, as they see it."

"Mayor, you are a gentleman," Solomon said admiringly. "I appreciate your vote of confidence. I'll stick it out."

The meeting between the mayor and Paul took place as planned. When confronted, Paul Keltner broke down, bursting into tears. He apologized profusely. Nonetheless, the mayor asked him to hand in his resignation. Paul nodded that he would and left the office, a broken young man barely out of school.

The thought never occurred to the mayor, or to Solomon, that Paul may have been compensated for leaking the news. As a result, they never discovered the fact that a conspiracy had taken place between Mason, Freddie, and Paul.
VENGEFUL UNHINGED

FLUTTERS OF THE HEART

Patagonia Lake, located about eighty miles south of Tucson, was about 250 acres in size. Often a favorite site for camping, fishing, and boating, it also was known as a favorite spot for birding. The myriad of assorted colors that fluttered from tree to tree and adorned the clear blue skies was indeed a spectacle to share, with all who appreciated life's creatures. Yet David couldn't help but laugh when he recalled, while traveling in the rain forest in Costa Rica, a birder's thrill at sighting glimpses of birds, barely visible in the jungle, flitting from tree to tree; and then recording their identifications on index cards. Perhaps his legal training had victimized him, causing him to place too much emphasis on all things logical, but he couldn't help himself. Logic dictated that those birders could visit an aviary and easily identify many more birds faster and more accurately. Perhaps the birds in the aviary would not be the same species that flew in the rain forest, but they all had wings and they all were beautiful, nonetheless, and were easily recognizable.

The relaxed setting was perfect for Mista and David, who were joined by many other couples seemingly in love, paddling slowly along the calm surface of the clear blue lake. David paid a small tribute to himself for having chosen the site as the ideal backdrop for what he had on his mind. Mista lay back at the far end of the small craft, absorbing the strong rays of the bright sun shining down on her reddening cheeks, with freckles peeking out across the bridge of her
nose. With her eyes half-closed, she said lazily, "This is wonderful. I'm absolutely relaxed. When you work each day, moments like this are memorable, especially when I'm in your company."

"I feel the same, honey. If I could sing, I would serenade you right now. Instead, I shall bare my inner soul. Going to your folks' house prompted you to contact the temple about converting. It has also prompted me. It cemented my feelings for you. I now know that I can't let you out of my life."

Mista suddenly became wide eyed. Vibrations tingled the surface of her skin; she recognized what David was about to say. She sat tall, totally focused as if in a trance. Webs of bliss, unlike anything she had ever known, undulated through her as he softly continued his preamble. Flushed with excitement, unable to pay close attention to what he was saying, she felt as if she were floating, gravity suddenly offering no more resistance than a child's magnet.

"Quite simply," David continued, "you are the love of my life. Will you marry me? I want to live with you the rest of my life. I want to have children with you." He abruptly rose, almost tipping the boat. He quickly widened his stance to regain his balance as he fell into her arms.

As she gazed lovingly upward, she noticed for the first time that his nose was slightly curved, and couldn't care less. "I've waited for this moment ever since I met you," she said, her voice hardly audible. "It was truly love at first sight. I'm so happy. In fact, I'm overwhelmed. Words escape me. Yes, yes, a thousand times yes." She looked up at
him. They held each other tightly. Nothing more had to be said. The engagement was now sealed. Slowly, as they pulled away, while looking intently into her eyes, David reached into his pocket, pulled out a little box, and opened it.

She instantly recognized what it was. "Oh my God, David, it's beautiful. Please forgive me; I'm about to cry."

"Sweetheart, I'm glad you like it, but I have to tell you something about it. I hope it won't make a difference, but if it does, I will not insist that you keep it."

She put a hand to his lips. "Don't say it. I know this is the ring that you gave Julie. Dear heart, I know that relationship is over. I can totally accept this ring as your expression of love for me. I don't have to think twice about it. It's the meaning that counts. I love it. It's beautiful."

David was relieved and somewhat incredulous. The speech he had intended to make, with all the deliberation and planning that he and his parents had thoroughly mulled over, was unnecessary. She knew, she understood, and she didn't care. She knew that his love for her was real. The ring was beautiful, and she would adore it as an expression of what he genuinely felt within his heart.

They spent a good part of the remaining day while continuing to float, immersed in idle talk that had meaning only to them. Mista did say, "The fact that this ring was once Julie's fortifies our relationship." She eyed the ring again, as she had when she first placed it on her slender finger. "To me, it means that it holds no memories for you."
***

They planned a small wedding in the temple chapel. Rabbi Weiss welcomed the opportunity to officiate. When David and Mista sat down to prepare a list of people to invite, it became quite apparent how their social life would gravitate when they were married. David's list was long, and Mista's consisted of just a few, none of whom were Jewish. At first, David felt awkward about the many names he submitted, but Mista put him at ease, jokingly remarking, "If you had as many clients as you do friends, you'd have one of the biggest practices in town."

The lists displayed one other truth. David had maintained continuing relationships with those he grew up with or met in school, and he had developed additional friendships with lawyers while working. At times, the gulf between David and Mista brought out her feelings of inadequacy. Her limited schooling did not only lessen her opportunities to form school friendships; she noticed that all of David's friends, including their wives, had college degrees. As the date set for their marriage approached, she grew more and more apprehensive, recognizing the degree to which her future would change. It was obvious that David's relationships would set the pattern for their social life. She welcomed the challenge of mixing with so many new people, most of whom were married and almost all of whom were Jewish. Yet she began to have trepidations whether she would fit in with the wives. She and David would be the first couple from mixed backgrounds. She couldn't help but wonder, Will I beaccepted?
She wished that she could talk to David about these rising concerns but she couldn't. She couldn't run the risk. She loved the man too much. She also loved what he stood for: the prestige, the higher standard of living, the acceptance among many that she was Mrs. Sherwood. Perhaps, even those who did not accept her would hide their feelings, because of her gainful position in society. It was easy for her to think in such practical ways, because she truly adored David. He was the most wonderful man she had ever met; he was adorable, to boot. He was the whole package. She was blessed to have met him; she was blessed that he wanted to marry her; she was blessed that she would eventually cease working and escape the working class that bore blue collars.

David's parents volunteered to bear all the expenses of the wedding, contrary to tradition. His father was delighted to serve as best man, and Mista's mother reluctantly agreed to serve as her matron of honor. It wasn't that her mother didn't appreciate Mista's thoughtfulness, but she was petrified. She was used to hovering in the background, and she knew absolutely nothing about Judaism. In fact, the only thing she ever knew about Jews was that they were the butt of distasteful remarks and bad humor.

When Mista notified Annabelle and Herman that there would be a rehearsal the day before the wedding, and that they would need to meet with the rabbi to rehearse the rituals and procedures, they were horrified. They had never met a rabbi and had no idea what to expect. The fact that Hebrew, a foreign language, would be part of the ritual frightened them.
At one time, Annabelle remarked, "I think I'm going to die. Oh Lordy, what did you get me into?" Mista saw the fear in her parents' eyes and asked Aunt Jean to help.

Aunt Jean said, "I'll do all I can. It won't be easy. You know your folks as well as I do. They cringe whenever they have to meet somebody new." Aunt Jean and Mista worked out a plan where Aunt Jean would pick up the folks, stay close to them at the temple, and try to quiet their nerves. Mista even taught Aunt Jean a few of the blessings in Hebrew and asked her to recite them to the folks ahead of time, so as to create some semblance of familiarity.

Besides the wedding party and Aunt Jean, David and Mista also invited Adele and her husband, Bennett and Arthur and their wives, and ten other couples, all friends of David's. Mista called some of her school friends, but they politely bowed out. David asked whether they did so because he was Jewish. She told him that she honestly thought it was because they were unfamiliar with Jewish ritual, which in David's mind meant the same thing.

Mista also told David that she had asked Hershel Berger to attend and he had been delighted. "Sarah and I would consider it an honor to be at your wedding."

Earlier David had talked to Bart and had casually mentioned that he would receive an invitation soon.

"That's great," said Bart, trying to be lighthearted.
Yet David noticed a hesitancy in his voice. "Of course, you know, without my saying so, that if you wish to bring a lady friend, it would be fine."

A brief silence followed before Bart said, "Uh, oh sure, I may just do that." He had hesitated again, but then, in a straightforward voice, he said, "David, we have a lunch planned coming up soon. I'll talk to you about my lady friend at that time."

"Really? Sounds serious to me. Can't wait to hear more."

Now that the wedding date was approaching, David was pleased and surprised. The same image kept reappearing in his mind. He kept reliving one special day, when he went on a scuba diving adventure in the Cayman Islands. He undertook his deepest dive ever, submerging with a small group and their guide more than one hundred feet below the surface, while exploring one coral cave after another, spying fish of all sizes, shapes, and colors. The fish swiftly circulated around them, as ghoulish eels peered eerily from behind hidden crevices. In particular, the magnificence of the coral captured his imagination. The entire experience of a new form of life would remain emblazoned within his memory, as would this—his wedding with Mista.

Though they were tiptoeing through the clouds, the lovers found a little time for practicality. They went searching for a one-bedroom apartment, agreeing on a modest-sized unit in a small, relatively new development, with a postage-stamp-sized swimming pool, which they considered insignificant because the cooing lovebirds expected to
spend their private moments indoors. They moved in before the ceremony. They had decided that there was no way they could live apart any longer; it became a matter of necessity to soothe their inflamed passions.

They did manage occasionally to talk about their upcoming responsibilities. Their love of children was uppermost in their minds; they settled on having at least three of the, as Mista put it, "little darlings." As part of her natural administrative craft, she was an incessant planner, early on devoting her thoughts to her role as a mother. "I guess, honey, if we can afford it, once the children arrive, I should stop working. As much as I enjoy my job and enjoy working with you on Bart's campaign, I want to be on hand to experience their growth."

They were lying together, huddled closely, while David calmly stroked her back in soothing rhythms. "You know, honey, rules are made to be broken, especially with children. Unfortunately, there is no school for parenting. Promise me one thing," he said teasingly, "that we won't plan our sex life according to the children's schedule."

"Heavens no," Mista said quickly, her heart beginning to beat faster, "that's reserved for the moment. In fact, now that you raised that wonderful subject, I'm beginning to get wet. Hint, hint."

No further cue was necessary; pillow talk quickly ended.

***
Unbeknownst to David and Mista, that same day in Las Vegas, Mason and Ronnie were enjoying soft breezes while sitting outside in two lounge chairs at the rear of Ronnie's apartment. As was usual, they were totally unclad, but free of neighbors peering in on their privacy. Ronnie's back patio was in a secluded corner out of view of those living on a higher floor, and the wall was over eight feet high.

Mason and Ronnie, too, were planning a small wedding to be followed by a large reception. At first they had planned on a large wedding, but although they long ago had accepted their height discrepancy, they figured, why open the door to many whispered comments while standing at the altar? Las Vegas was well known for its easy residency requirements and many wedding chapels. They made a reservation for the wedding to occur at the popular Church of Life chapel.

The little church upheld the heritage of Las Vegas with its unique architecture depicting the old West. Its exterior was of cedar and its interior of California redwood. Ronnie admitted the selection followed the way of the crowd, contrary to the way she usually made decisions, but this time the tug of the church's glamorous history overrode any resistance she may have had.

"I heard from my mom today, and she said she'd love to come. She was enthralled when I offered to pay all of her traveling expenses," said Ronnie. "When she sees what goes on here and attends some of the shows, she's going to be amazed. Knowing my mother, she'll become a little girl again. What we're doing for her is so
nice, Mason. I love you so much for offering to bring her out. She has so little."

"It's all about the goose and the gander," he said. "I talked to my dad, and he was so glad to talk to me that I swear he almost peed in his pants. I think he's back on his feet financially, but I told him that all his expenses would be paid. That and the idea that his son was getting married were too much for him. I could tell he was crying. If it weren't for you, honey, and the doors you opened up to my feelings for my dad, I would still be out of contact with him. When he finds out how well I'm doing, I may have to apply CPR to save him. I'll show him Moon Glow, but I won't mention the Desert Club. That would violate our partnership agreement."

"I have good feelings about your father. I'm anxious to hear how a small boy, an immigrant who couldn't read or write, became a success in business. He probably was a whiz with numbers," said Ronnie.

"That he was," said Mason. "I now appreciate him much more. I guess what really threw me off was his thick Yiddish accent. As a small boy growing up, I just wanted a parent that spoke like everyone else."

"You've come a long way, my love," Ronnie said. Self-satisfaction captured Ronnie's thoughts. The riches that she had dreamed about so often were about to come true, but the vast sums now expected exceeded all that she had ever imagined. They had previously agreed to put everything they made in joint accounts
owned equally between them. Even Gino was amazed by Moon Glow's rising profits each month, and the Desert Club, which had been operational only a short time, had already attracted a dozen of the international superrich, including a gentleman from Malaysia and another from Russia. At this rate, Mason and Ronnie's share of the profits would be in excess of $1 million in just the first year. What lay ahead was a treasure trove of flowing dollars, like waters gushing from loosened floodgates.

Neither could wait for their new toys to arrive. Ronnie had ordered a customized Aston Martin with a baby-lamb interior, an engine that sounded like a jet upon takeoff, and an exterior painted in Ferrari yellow. Mason, too, participated in their new frenzy to buy, buy, buy. Grounded in the ways of Chicago's pushcart trade, where a Cadillac was idolized as the prize of success, he had on order a souped-up, flame-colored Cadillac. He wished that all of his fellow classmates, including those who bullied him and made fun of the little Jew, could see him now. He even wished that his nemesis, David Sherwood, were on hand to witness his success. Although his bitterness for David still burned a hole in his memory, he couldn't help but rationalize that were it not for David, he would still be living in Tucson, in no way enjoying the riches that were now becoming an accustomed habit.

After the small wedding, they planned to invite over five hundred people to a reception two months later. Pappy had agreed to be the best man. As a courtesy, they would send an invitation to
Gino, but they knew that he would not attend. What they didn't know was that Gino was planning a special wedding gift for them.
THE VENGEFUL UNHINGED

AN ELUSIVE STRATEGY

"Mr. Sherwood?"

"Yes," he said, addressing the female voice that came through the phone.

"One moment, please, Mr. Barney Stone calling."

"David," came the enthusiastic and unexpected greeting. "I haven't seen you in ages. I hear many good things about you. You had better be careful; you might become very successful."

"Barney, what a surprise. You may have to give me lessons on how to handle success," David retorted in the same friendly manner, knowing that Barney had something on his mind and was merely setting him up. "To what do I owe this call? I would have expected that you would have an aide call me."

"Hey, you're an important man. I call all important men directly. I must commend you; the way you handled Joe Tully was masterful. To obtain a public apology from him is beyond belief."

"Well, thank you. Things just seemed to fall my way. As it is, I had a brain trust that helped me. Is there something that I can do for you?"

"As a matter of fact, there is something I'd like to talk to you about now that you're involved in politics."
"I can't imagine what it is, especially since we are of two different political persuasions and belong to two different parties."

"Tell you what, David. I know your politics. You're not a flaming liberal. You're a middle-of-the-roader. We could probably come to terms on many different issues. The same is true of Bart Langley, who is an odds-on favorite to become the next county attorney."

"I know that, but Bart will be dealing with bad guys who violate our criminal laws. That's not an area that should be of personal interest to you."

"David, my friend," Barney began in a patronizing manner, "you know better than that. The county attorney also goes after people who falsify financial statements and assists the attorney general in antitrust matters and other phony deals, but that's not what I'm calling about. I'd like to talk to you about Bart Langley in a larger sense."

"That's a surprise. What on earth for?"

"Oh, come now, David. You aren't that naive."

That's the second time, Mr. Stone, that you have insulted me. I wonder if that's part of your game of intimidation. "No, not that naive.It's just my way of saying I can't quite figure out what you want of Bart."

"I'll make it easy for you. Bart is a sure winner and will make a good county attorney. He is already very popular, and once he gets in office, his popularity will be matched with stature, and a bright future is ahead for him. The way I judge the situation, I see him using the
office as a stepping stone for higher office. I'm close to Hap Richardson, who told me that he has served five terms in the US Senate and that thirty years is enough. You watch. Now he'll go to work for a lobbying firm and make more than a million bucks a year. Sometimes I think that the Washington scene is a joke."

"When does Richardson's term expire?"

"In two years. It's time to plan ahead. Are you beginning to see the picture? I'd like to meet with you and Bart, perhaps over lunch. I'd like to ask him what his plans are in the future. Of course, everything will be on a confidential basis."

David began to stir in his chair. Barney's simple request was loaded with dynamite. Knowing how Barney reacted when he didn't get his way, he decided to take the heat anyway. Better to keep Bart out of it. "Barney, I'm not sure that this is a good time for you to meet Bart. He's not in office yet, and if it ever got out that he had a meeting with you, people like Joe Tully would smell an inside deal even if it wasn't true."

"I can assure you there will be no leaks. This would be between the three of us and nobody else."

David replied, "I'm not the most experienced politician, but I know that strange things happen. Sometimes the walls have ears. In politics, there are few that you can trust. I'm beginning to keep things to myself and not even disclose anything to staff for that reason."
"Now see here, David. You're not turning down my little request, are you? I thought you knew better." Barney's voice began rising. "You let me down once before," he blurted out. "Don't you dare do it again. There will be no leaks, and I demand that you set things up for me. Do you hear me?"

David forced himself to be patient. Quietly he said, "Barney, I don't want to get into a pissing contest with you. I'm beginning to think that you use anger as a tactic to get your way. Believe me, I'm not trying to aggravate you, but I cannot help you. Of course, I'll tell Bart about your call and your request. I will also tell him that as chairman of his campaign, I took it upon myself to turn down your request."

"You'll hear from me again," Barney shot back, his voice openly hostile. "I'll settle the score with you so that you'll be politically decapitated. Do you hear?" The phone went dead.

Again, David had to withstand a major insult from Barney. To add to the wound, Barney was the first person who ever hung up on him. He sat back, trying to calm down. He felt as if a knife had just been plunged into his belly. Oh well, it was better that he take the heat than Bart. He had figured Barney correctly. He knew what to expect from him. Who would have thought that he would make an enemy so easily?

***
After his unpleasant conversation with David Sherwood, Barney Stone met with Sam Langley, Bart's father, in his law office.

The two men displayed a sharp contrast in manner and appearance. Yet they had become good friends. In college Sam was a rugged tight end. When he blocked an opponent, he was usually taken out of the play and often had to be benched until he regained his senses. To maintain his rugged appearance, Sam kept his collegiate cropped hair, though flecks of gray were beginning to appear. His face was lean and well lined, which, in his case, enhanced his appearance.

Barney, though a shrewd manipulator, was neither athletic in appearance nor in manner. He did, however, have a well-honed game of golf, which he started playing early in high school. When he graduated from college, he received a small inheritance from his grandfather. With those funds he had managed to spawn a fortune as a trader in currencies while working for one of the big brokerage firms on Wall Street. At age thirty-five, he grew tired of the intensity each day in his small colorless office, and he decided that he had enough. He knew that he was not ready to retire and would need a new challenge. He quickly discovered it when he landed in Tucson upon hearing of the speculation in land that was occurring. He liked the action, buying and selling land quickly, which was called flipping. He would still be trading, but in real estate rather than in dollars, rubles, yen, pesos, or a myriad of other foreign currencies.
There were no similarities in appearance between Sam and Barney. Barney was barrel chested with a small waistline, resembling a wrestler from the waist up and a runner from the waist down. His body was soft; his chin was sagging, and though his energy was still strong, his lack of self-supervision showed. He usually found most people boring unless he could put them to good use. Then he would liven up as if he had just sat on a bed of hot coals. His second personality would emerge. He would become a jovial conversant who discoursed on many topics and dispensed witticisms when appropriate. He had learned in school that it was to his advantage to please. Now a grown man, he never lost that touch.

As Sam's mind regularly produced legal gems, Barney's continually played chess, always many moves ahead of those he dealt with, whether in business or society. He knew one thing—the bottom line. He would not let anything or anyone stand in his way. His pile of wealth exceeded anything that he would have ever imagined. He found many other uses for his money beyond the usual indulgences, which he paraded before all to see: a new, upscale house consisting of ten thousand square feet, first-class international travel to many parts of the world, four cars for all purposes, and gaudy jewelry for his wife, often many carat sizes too large for her small frame and tiny fingers. He made it a regular habit to line the pockets of politicians, who often, especially when running for office, were willing to exchange favors. He also made it a practice to reward title-company officers' personnel, courthouse employees, secretaries, and those from many other administrative walks of life, who knocked
themselves out to serve his every request. He found out that throwing money around bought him prestige, awards, group invitations, political favors, special memberships, and above all, power. He became a pro at playing the game of influence. All of his many gifts were calculated to produce a payback.

As one of the senior partners in his law firm, which originated thirty years ago, Sam had a corner office, slightly larger the other lawyers in the office except for the other senior partners. It furnished a panoramic view of downtown Tucson from the top floor of a prestigious high-rise office building.

Sam had met Barney when he first came to Tucson loaded with his first stash made in currencies. At first he represented Barney in a few small legal matters, but as their relationship grew, Sam soon recognized Barney's acumen. Within five years Barney had more than doubled his already substantial net worth. As the years rolled on, his assets continued to balloon in gargantuan proportions. Along with growing his wealth, Barney became Sam's largest individual client, and Barney's self-assurance tagged right along.

They had begun to play golf a few times on the city course. On one particular Sunday, they entered into a match play with two others at Sam's club. Sam and Barney were on fire that particular day. Both had reasonably low handicaps for weekend players; Sam was a five and Barney was a seven, but on that particular day, each broke par. After eighteen holes, they ended the match dead even against each other. In the sudden-death playoff, Sam holed a shot from 130 yards
away and broke Barney's back. The winning purse for Sam was $5,000. As each of the four golfers kicked in, Sam laughingly bellowed, "Hell, this is better than practicing law for a living."

After a few rounds of beer in the clubhouse, Barney approached Sam when they were alone. "I know that your club is restricted, but hell, I know so many of the members, and I pal around with many of them on weekends. What do you think about my joining your club? I know that will place you in a crossfire, but I think that you will figure a way around it."

This placed Sam in a very awkward position. He didn't want to piss off one of his biggest clients or risk the wrath of some of the club's old guard, who found Jews distasteful. Yet many of the prejudiced members managed to do business with Jewish customers, and of course, would accept their money in payment.

Sam used a political maneuver to swing the membership in Barney's favor and avoid a blackball. He first formed a tight coalition of friends in the club, who set up a whispering campaign among the members, speaking out in favor of Barney's membership application. Then, just before the vote was cast, Sam let it be known that Barney was willing to make a $50,000 contribution to the club's capital fund drive to modernize the dining room and locker room facilities. That did it! The money overcame any last-minute bias, and Barney became the first Jew, and the only Jew, to become a member of Mountain View, Tucson's most prestigious country club.
As soon as Barney entered Sam's office that day, he quickly sat down, and jump-started the meeting. "I'll tell you what, Sam; I know your son likes David Sherwood. I don't blame him, but David is politically naive, and down the road he will cost Bart many potential money sources. Politics is a tough game, and Bart is going to need men who can raise big money if he decides to run for a statewide office. You and I both know that both the power brokers and the majority of the voters live in Phoenix. It's also easier for them to access out-of-state money to fund campaigns. If Bart plays his cards right, he can capture Hap Richardson's Senate seat, when he steps down, and we can help him."

"I agree, Bart could go all the way. I also agree that David Sherwood is green, but he's also very ambitious, well liked, and loyal to Bart. This is his first experience in a campaign, and though he is doing an excellent job, he certainly will not be counted on to be the head honcho if Bart decides on a statewide campaign. I know, though, you're not here to discuss David Sherwood. What's on your mind?"

Barney leaned forward, displaying dead seriousness. This was his kind of conversation. Whether he was on the golf course wagering thousands or working on a hardheaded business deal involving millions, he took on a new look, one that Sam had seen before. "Money talks in politics. As a starter, I will commit to raising one million dollars for Bart's campaign. I have a special plan in mind."
Before Sam could acknowledge that Barney was making a big-time commitment, Barney arose from his seat to continue his planned message and to replenish his ego. "A fresh candidate is needed. Bart is the all-American boy, but even with big money behind him, you know as well as I do that somebody from Maricopa will run. It will be a tough race just to get the nomination. The big Eastern money will not know much about Bart, and they will desperately want to retain Hap's seat and with a candidate from the same party. There is talk that Marty Vaughn, the state senate majority leader, will go for the seat. I know Marty. He is formidable, with strong contacts in and out of Arizona. Bart will have to travel throughout the state just to get acquainted. If you're asking yourself why I don't get behind someone in Maricopa, well, you know I could, but personally I like to keep in touch with people I can trust and that are local."

"You can also better control local people," Sam said with a sly grin on his face.

"C'mon, Sam, not you, too. I expect to hear talk like that from David Sherwood."

Sam retreated nicely. "One million dollars is a very generous offer to inaugurate a campaign. I'm sure that you expect something in return. Best you tell me so that I have a complete picture before I talk to Bart. You realize, it's a delicate situation, and I have to tread lightly. Bart usually listens to me, but this time he may consider it an intrusion."
"I own some land next to the Saguaro National Park, which is pristine and the feds want to buy it. I have been talking to the feds about an exchange, rather than a sale. The feds own some land with frontage along I-10, the interstate highway, which I would like to acquire. Hap is working on it for me."

"Okay, so that means you've got to get appraisals for your land and for the fed land."

"True, and I expect the fed land will be worth more than my land when it's appraised. I'm willing to pay the differential."

"So what's the problem?"

"The Warburg interests out of New York also want the fed frontage land for a hotel, or so they claim. They're putting pressure on Congress to oppose the exchange. I've got the environmentalists on my side, who want the feds to incorporate my land into the National Park. As I said, it's pristine and is a natural habitat for bighorn sheep, javelinas, and even a jaguar have also been sighted. Obviously, if the feds acquire it, and make it part of the national park, they will maintain the health of the wildlife, which will serve the public purpose."

"I'm beginning to see the picture. If Hap is not able to complete the exchange while he is in office, it will be necessary that his successor carry on."

"That's right Sam, and Bart will not get hurt politically, if he continues on with the program."
"You're probably right, but any time there is an exchange and valuations are involved, it opens the door to perception, which as you know, perception can be reality to some people. If the public suspects that there is hanky-panky, there could be hell to pay. You could be asking Bart to step into a hornet's nest."

"Sam, that's where the environmentalists play a big role. If they step up to the plate, and take on an active role, this could be a feather in Bart's cap. In fact, I think that I can get the president of the Sierra Club to publicly endorse it."

"Okay, I get the picture. I'll talk to Bart about it."

"Sam, let's leave it this way. The fact that it will be controversial doesn't necessarily mean it will be bad. I will stay in the background as much as possible."

"Barney, I wish I could be polite, but I must be frank. Your name will be blared all over the place. We have to make sure that either Bart is not associated with you, or we get enough public support to offset any negative image that you may cast."

Sam began to rub his hands together in wistful thought. He looked up, respectful of his client's cleverness, but doubt still entered his mind. "Looks to me that you're in for a political battle. I can see the Warburgs exerting a great deal of pressure."

"Hap is aware of that. The deal is moving right along in Congress."
"Come to think of it, Hap doesn't have much to lose, since he's retiring," Sam reasoned aloud.

"Sam, let's not quibble. One million dollars is a major-league gift, and it will get Bart started big-time on his campaign for the Senate. Look, Bart will be protected. The gift will not come from me; it will come from leading other hitters in Tucson that are not involved in the exchange."

"I don't know, Barney. There may be other real estate parties and property owners opposed to it. Their combined voices in opposition could easily stack up against Bart and put him under pressure early in the campaign."

"Not when I get done. My land is pristine. It's perfect for the national park. The property contains many gigantic saguaros, some of the most beautiful specimens that exist, and as I say, it borders the national park. The land is also, as I said, a live habitat for some disappearing species, including bighorn sheep. Tell me Sam, have you even seen a bighorn sheep? It's a gorgeous animal. The State Land Department also plays a part; they want to cooperate with the feds. I can bring in environmentalists, who favor the exchange, in truckloads. I also hope to bring in the Sierra Club's national officers from their home office to speak out in favor of the deal. Those few real estate interests opposed to it will be so outnumbered and outclassed that they will be looked upon as petty and strictly out to line their own pockets."
"There's another problem," said Sam. "If one million dollars shows up as a contribution to Bart's campaign, people will draw the conclusion that Bart is the captive of big-money interests, especially if it comes in one lump sum from out of state."

"What do you recommend, Sam?"

"Well, I haven't thought it through entirely, but it seems to me that it would be better if a sum that large all came in from local parties. Frankly, that's a tall order. Can you accomplish that? You also run the additional risk that one of the people making a pledge will leak your participation in the deal, which could wreak havoc on Bart's campaign."

Barney didn't reply. There was a long silence. It was apparent that his wheels were spinning. Finally, he said, "Now I know why I have you as my attorney. What I would suggest is that we round up ten locals with substantial means who will openly declare that they are going to raise the money from others and contribute their own funds also to support Bart's candidacy. They will further declare that they will not ask for any favors in return."

"Why in heaven's name would the ten locals run that kind of financial risk?"

"A couple of reasons. They will generate some publicity for themselves, because certain ads will be run with their names on display. Also, they can show that they like Bart and want to support a local candidate for national office."
"All right, Barney, I'll talk to Bart. As you know, it will be a delicate situation. I may even call David to join us in the meeting. I know that Bart will talk to him, and it is best that I present it in its most favorable light."

"Go for it, my friend." Barney stood and shook Sam's hand, nodding affirmatively, and quickly strode out of the office.

Barney had another safeguard in mind. Once Hap vacated the office, he would agree to become honorary chairman of Bart's campaign. This would help fortify the Senate's commitment. It was always wise to add clinchers, especially in a complicated transaction. To induce Hap to take the role, he would pay Hap a fee once he was out of office. He knew that Hap was planning to join a high-powered lobbying firm in Washington when he left office—a firm that charged their Fortune 500 clients astronomical fees. Hap's planned move was labeled "the revolving door"—out of one Washington office and into another. Hap exchanged laughs with Barney about it. They both agreed that it was hypocritical. Once he became a lobbyist, he would at times be advocating both for and against some of his former colleagues, and on some issues he formerly endorsed.

Barney realized that at best Sam would allow him to ask only one favor of Bart. That was all that he needed, but he had to make it clear to Sam that the promise had to be broad in scope, to cover any surprises that may come up.

Barney, to his chagrin, found it ironic that if Bart won the election, he would also be helping David Sherwood. David stood to
gain a great deal of stature in the Jewish community and throughout Tucson. When Barney met David about two years before, he saw almost immediately that David could challenge his standing in the Jewish community. David had the guns to go all the way. Barney also discovered that he couldn't wield control over David as he did others. Already he had tried twice and failed. The man was his own person, and it was going to be difficult to sabotage his growth down the road.
THE VENGEFUL UNHINGED

"I DO...I DO"

"All was roses" could be said of the lives of the two men, separated by distance, antagonistic toward one another, and no longer aware of each other's lives. Yet circumstances were such that they both married in the same month, they had a marriage reception in the same month, soon after their exchange of nuptials, and each was very successful in his career endeavors, but David had an additional notch in his belt for having guided Bart's election as county attorney.

Mason and Ronnie, as would also be true of David and Mista, chose to have a small wedding, but for different reasons. Since the spectacular opening at Moon Glow, Mason had become a celebrity. They decided on a gala reception as the best way to maintain his growing profile after the wedding. They were thus afforded the advantage of a small, intimate wedding with their few friends, his father as best man, and her mother as matron of honor, officiated at the Chapel of Life, one of the many chapels in Las Vegas that provided a ceremonial opportunity.

***

The day before they were entwined was special. Ronnie and Mason each singled out the other's parent to acquire a further perspective of their soon-to-be spouse. Ronnie had longed for the time that she could find out more about Jacob Greweski, who, as a
young boy of twelve, had boarded a crowded boat with throngs of other immigrants seeking the new land of opportunity. They had to pay a big price: to endure the stench of cramped quarters without ventilation, the lack of sleep caused by the crowded conditions, the stiffness, and for many, the pain that resulted from the lack of movement, and the meager quantities of food that lacked nutrients and had absolutely no taste. No one could speak English, and few could communicate with each other, because of the various languages and dialects from the multitude of countries from whence they came.

When Jacob eventually landed at Ellis Island across the bay from New York, he had no idea that the authorities would shorten his name to Grewe. To the child's relief, relatives were on hand to welcome the bewildered, disheveled boy. He never did go to school, never learned how to read or write; it took him years to learn English, because the family all spoke Yiddish. The family migrated to Chicago, believing there would be more opportunity on Maxwell Street, which they soon learned was another ghetto and another pushcart economy, where all thrived on pennies.

The story fascinated Ronnie. Jacob Grewe's ability to survive took on new meaning, and her respect for him grew. What particularly stood out in Ronnie's mind was that he rose from this low beginning to learn to speak English, get married, and start a business in wholesale grocery from nothing, and he built it up to become successful. Mason also was originating a new business, but he was starting out with something rather than nothing—moola, the capital
that Gino supplied, and the supporting talents of Gino, Pappy, and Claude.

Mason found Ronnie's mother interesting. Previously, until he met her mother, he had not given a great deal of thought to Ronnie's background. Once her mother, who turned out to be very sociable, began to expound, Mason found that he had little to ask, since her description of her daughter's growth and eventual move to Las Vegas was vivid and detailed.

Though Marion Mayberry was a small woman, about the size of Mason, her husband, Herb, was very tall, and apparently his genes explained Ronnie's height. When Ronnie was eight years old, Marion divorced Herb, and she soon started a relationship with Charlie Covelli, a likable two-bit thug who worked for Sam Giancana. Sam was one of the originators of the plan for Gino Angelo to move his law practice and help run their new operations in Las Vegas.

By then Ronnie had completed her college education and was beginning to search for an opportunity that befitted her entrepreneurial ambitions. Covelli could see that she would not fit into the typical pattern of an Italian housewife; she wanted to make money on her own. Covelli mentioned her ambitions, and her height, to Sam, who in turn mentioned her to Gino.

When told of her height, Gino said, "I don't care if she's as tall as the Empire State Building, if she's smart and will keep her mouth shut." Gino was impressed with her intelligence when they met. They
hit it off from the beginning, and a match was soon made on earth— the highest that the underworld's heaven would allow.

***

Carlton Brewster, the owner of the Chapel of Life, served as chaplain upon request. Now seventy-seven, he had been officiating for fifty years, often performing six or more ceremonies per day. His staff often commented about his amazing stamina. It seemed that he was constantly on his feet; so far he had even managed to avoid the stoop often found among the aging. Although his services were nonreligious, he preferred to be called chaplain and would don full-length black robes when officiating. A raised altar, draped by arches and set against a multicolored stained glass window, offered a ceremonial atmosphere to excited couples awaiting the opportunity to exchange lifetime vows.

Ronnie decided to wear a light pink rather than the usual white. She selected a mini-length, round-necked, sleeveless dress with a flared skirt that flattered her figure. Her jewelry was tasteful, consisting of a gold drop necklace with a low, oblong ceramic centerpiece sprinkled with small diamonds, matched by similarly designed dangling earrings.

To adjust for the disparity in height, the chaplain recommended that Mason stand on an elevated step next to Ronnie. After Ronnie joyfully exclaimed with exaggerated exuberance, "I do," Mason wrapped her in a meaningful embrace and made a closed-eye kiss that set off aroused feelings.
The chaplain interrupted their momentary interlude to make a surprise announcement to the small assemblage, which was clapping politely. "Would all of the guests please wait outside the church? I have a confidential message for Mason and Ronnie. It will be brief, and they will greet you all momentarily."

All were puzzled, including Mason and Ronnie, but everyone respected the chaplain's wishes. Mason and Ronnie remained on the raised platform until their parents and the last well-wisher had exited. The newlyweds fixed their gaze upon the chaplain as he began to speak in slow, deliberate terms.

"I know this is highly unusual, but just before I met with you in my study before entering the church, I received a confidential written message. I was asked not to deliver it until after the ceremony." He reached into his pocket and unfolded a small sheet with a typewritten message and a legal document that the couple quickly noticed was a deed.

The chaplain began to read:

Dear Mason and Ronnie, You are two of my favorite people. I wish to show my appreciation and respect for each of you with my wedding gift of a newly built five-bedroom vacation lodge in Pinetop, Arizona. Should you wish on occasion to escape from the blazing summer heat of Las Vegas, or should you wish to do some skiing in the winter, there is a lovely ski lodge nearby, called Sunrise, owned and managed by the Apache Indian tribe. Please enjoy this escape haven together with your family and friends.
As an aside, please do not disclose to anyone that you received this gift from me. Pappy knows all about it and is prepared to act as if he made the gift. Please join me in this little bit of hyperbole and announce that Pappy made this gift to you. The chaplain will hand you the deed. It is already recorded in both of your names, as husband and wife, in community property.

Please now destroy this message. I think you understand the reasons, and I know you also understand the reasons why I could not attend your marriage and personally share in your joy.

The message was unsigned.

The chaplain handed Mason the deed. Ronnie said, "Chaplain, I hope you won't mind. I see you have a metal wastepaper container in the corner. I would like to burn the message in front of you both."

As the message was reduced to ashes, Mason and Ronnie broke out in big smiles, hugged the chaplain, and thanked him profusely. Hand in hand, the newlyweds hurried outside to greet Pappy and express their contrived thankfulness. They then announced to the guests how surprised they were to receive such a wonderful gift from Pappy, their dear friend and partner.

Those present shook their heads in awe. The mystery that detained them outside the church was now explained. The news of Pappy's generous gift would soon be circulated among business associates, employees, family, and friends. He was, indeed, popular for weeks to come.
***

The organist, fifteen minutes before the ceremony began, started playing "Till There Was You." The guests, all of whom had already arrived, began to hum to the tune, and a few began to softly sing its words. David had purposely selected the melodious tune because it said so much about his relationship with Mista and what she meant to him. What he found particularly significant was the last stanza:

There was love all around,

But I never heard it singing.

No, I never heard it at all

Till there was you.

The rabbi, a portly, balding gentleman, with a large-sized head, and a tall, stately posture, together with David and his father, was already standing at the chuppah, the raised canopy above the altar, where he would preside as the young bride, accompanied by her father, slowly walked down the aisle to join David.

David was unusually calm and at ease. He felt blessed that he was becoming united in this house of God with his beautiful bride, who he considered a true, deep soul.

The chapel, where they congregated, was small compared to the auditorium where all the holiday services were conducted, seating around eighty-five people. It was perfect for the occasion. It had been named after Harry Schlanger and his wife, who had funded the entire
building. As his dad once told David, "During the construction of the chapel, Harry would appear on site every day and watch its progress. Knowing that he had entered his closing chapter in life, he made the chapel his final gift to the community.

"I'll never forget Harry's remarks to me upon its completion," his dad confided earlier. "Nathan," he said. "I hope that you and your wife and young David can make use of the chapel someday."

"How prophetic Harry's remarks were that day," his father beamed.

Standing, waiting for the ceremony to begin, David reflected to himself, Thank you, Harry, for this wonderful gift. I'm only too happyto carry out your wishes.

Smiling, and taking small, slow steps as she was instructed, seemingly enjoying herself, Annabelle Cantrell walked down the aisle carrying a floral bouquet with an assortment of colors. She didn't know anybody except Aunt Jean and David's folks, whom she and Herman had just met at a small dinner the evening before the rehearsal. To no one's surprise, she and Herman remained silent throughout the dinner. Yet since the rehearsal she had gained confidence, as was demonstrated in her steady countenance. As Mista would later acknowledge to David, "It was Mother's finest hour. She rose to the occasion."

The organist boldly stroked the keys, and the organ responded with the beginning of the "Wedding March" in a resonant tone that dominated the room. All eyes turned in anticipation of the bride's
entrance. When Mista appeared, she was majestic in her simplicity. She wore a conservative, high-necked, knee-length white satin dress that was custom fitted to her contoured shape. It bore two tiers of ruffles above the hemline. Her only jewelry was an eighteen-karat-gold double-chain necklace. She cast an aura of queenly beauty that brought gasps from the guests. Earlier, she had confided to David that she purposely had decided not to choose a full-length bridal gown, because it would be too expensive and she did not think it would be appropriate for the semiprivate occasion.

She had an added thought: guilt. As she had admitted to David as they were preparing for the ceremony, "I'm embarrassed that your parents are paying all the wedding expenses."

Now, as she stood at the entrance to the short walkway, about to present herself, she felt fulfilled. That special moment, which she had dreamed about since she was a child, had arrived. With her father at her side, she stood momentarily without advancing. Her green eyes shone, accentuated by a small ceiling light that focused on her in the darkened room. Her cheeks were lightly colored; her shade of lipstick matched her natural hair color; she was splendid.

As they began their slow walk in cadence with the music, Herman whispered, "You'd better hold on to my hand. My knees don't feel any too steady." Unlike the usual procedure, in which the bride is escorted, Mista began to escort her father. That was apparent to many who noticed such details, as Mista clasped his upper arm, gripping it tightly, and guided him slowly, step by step. Her happiness
portrayed her upright bearing as she refused to allow any distraction while her father swayed. Nonetheless, she was thankful they had to walk only a short distance. When David moved to her side to stand before the rabbi, he could see that she was relieved. They would later share those few tense moments with each other between giggles during their first night together.

The rabbi gazed upon the attractive couple and began the ceremony. He spoke partly in Hebrew and partly in English, reciting passages from the Torah and special psalms, and then in English he welcomed the presence of all the guests present in a conversational tone. He went on to address the parents, calling out to them by their first names, and then spoke of his personal relationship with Mista. He noted how well he had gotten to know her and how much he was impressed with her devotion to Judaism. Turning to David, he acknowledged the family's long-established ties with the temple, calling attention to David's father, who had served two terms on the board of directors. He also acknowledged David's leadership in the community and his commitment to the law and to Judaism.

The rabbi then began the abbreviated ritual for a smaller Jewish wedding. When he pronounced them man and wife, he asked them to bow their heads. As he placed his hands slightly above them, he asked them to join him in a final Hebrew prayer, which he recited slowly so they could repeat it. He closed by saying, "Mr. and Mrs. Sherwood, I welcome you." The guests began to applaud. David and Mista embraced, kissing deeply. They turned, and with their parents
at either side, slowly walked down the aisle, shaking hands, exchanging hugs, and sharing best wishes with all their friends.

A casual luncheon, unlike the usual formal dinner, was served in a nearby room. It featured a traditional menu, including lox and bagels, deli cold cuts, an assortment of coleslaw and potato salads, and an abundant selection of desserts, including baklava, which consisted of phyllo wrapped around an assortment of nuts, jellies, and chocolate, all held together by honey or syrup. The parents sat with them at the head table, along with Aunt Jean.

When David's mother saw how out of place Herman and Annabelle felt at the rehearsal in the rabbi's study, she drew Mista aside at the conclusion of the rabbi's instructions. "I can see that your parents are uncomfortable. I can understand it. I suggest that you, Aunt Jean, and I make it easier for them tomorrow, especially at the luncheon afterward. Can you and Aunt Jean stay longer so we can talk it over?"

Mista said, "Shirley, you are such a dear. I'll talk to Aunt Jean. Best we drop over to your house right as soon as we leave here."

The three ladies engaged in a gleeful conspiracy. At lunch after the wedding, Shirley would focus the conversation with Annabelle on her vegetable garden, bowling, and her volunteer work. Nathan would direct the conversation with Herman to their shared interest in plumbing. Since Nathan owned hardware stores, Herman actually welcomed the idea of generating new ideas or acquiring useful information about new parts, tools, and machinery.
The ladies had also made special luncheon arrangements for Annabelle, Herman, and Aunt Jean. They knew that the temple menu would be unfamiliar to them, so they arranged for Aunt Jean's favorite sandwich to be delivered to each of them as they were being seated. Mista and David were both somewhat surprised and pleased to see that Herman soon approached the buffet table and made himself a heaping sandwich of corned beef with slices of cheese on rye bread. He added a large portion of coleslaw and a dill pickle to his plate. Annabelle quickly joined him. She toasted a bagel, added cream cheese, and chose a chocolate cake to bring back. It was obvious that the planning had worked; Herman and Annabelle ended up enjoying the afternoon in relaxed comfort.

As most of the guests were mingling at the buffet table, selecting desserts, Bart and Julie eagerly walked up to congratulate David and Mista. This was the first time that Mista and Julie had actually met, and the chemistry between them was immediate. After just a few brief words, Julie offered, "When you return from your honeymoon, I would love to have lunch with you."

Mista was overcome by the thoughtful gesture, replying with a cry in her voice, "Julie that is so nice of you. Already I feel as if you are an old friend."

Bart and David silently nodded their approval to one another. Considering David's common past with both of the attractive ladies, he was extremely happy that they were going to be friends. He
envisioned many moments that the four of them would share together.

While the lunch was still abuzz with activity and conversation, the couple moved from table to table to greet the guests and to thank them for coming. They then returned to hug their parents. Although Annabelle and Herman had become more relaxed, they both stiffened when David hugged them. He understood that it would take quite some time before they could be comfortable with such an intimate exchange of warmth. Again the couple thanked the rabbi and a beaming Mr. Berger for all they had done.

When a chauffeur arrived, they blew kisses to everyone and merrily exited on their way to the airport. They had selected Canada's Lake Louise for their honeymoon and planned to stay at the hotel that bordered on the lake. When the reservation clerk recommended the honeymoon suite to David, he showed no resistance. Upon arrival, as they entered the suite, they were elated with the spacious quarters. They quickly noticed its many features, including a spa Jacuzzi bathtub, cushioned mattresses that felt more like down pillows, and a picturesque view of a glacier in the distance, capped in ice despite the summer warmth. David especially pointed out the hotel's professionalism, appreciating the complimentary decorative basket of fruit and candies that stood on a corner pedestal.

That evening, as they shared their marriage bed and recapped their many happy moments of the day, Mista related a spiritual feeling that overcame her during the rabbi's closing prayer. "Perhaps it was
my imagination, but when the rabbi raised his hands above our heads, I felt a magnetic force as we received his blessing."
THE VENGEFUL UNHINGED

A PERILOUS OPPORTUNITY

The day after David returned from his honeymoon, he and Bart met at Sam Langley's law office for a previously scheduled meeting.

Both had an inkling that Barney Stone was pulling strings and that Barney had sought help from Bart's dad. They found it hard to accept that they might be discussing Bart's possible run for the soon-to-be-vacated US Senate seat. They were especially surprised that such planning was occurring when Bart had not expressed any interest in running. Further, they thought the idea was too farfetched to think about, since Bart had not taken office yet as county attorney. The fact that Barney was hatching the plan added to their closed minds. When Barney's voice and pocketbook were involved in any plan, it could only mean one thing—payback.

Knowing that Bart's dad would protect Bart's backside overcame their resistance. They knew that usually there would be no harm in listening, but if the news of the meeting ever leaked, they would have hell to pay. They were aware that Barney was a hot potato who had a horde of enemies seeking to feast on his carcass.

Sam greeted them as they entered his office; they were relieved to see that Barney was not present. "Hi, David," Sam said as he both shook his son's hand and hugged David, who could feel the strength of the former tight end's arms despite his middle age. This was not the first time that David noticed the contrast between father and son. As David had pieced it together, Bart was endowed with a
very high IQ and yawned his way through school. Law school did in fact challenge him at times. His dad, however, was different. Sam was serious minded and studious even during his school days. Bart once confided that unlike his dad, he had never participated in athletics, because doing so would have interfered with his partying.

Turning to Bart, Sam jokingly rebuked him. "Damn, I always thought that I'd be the first in the family to rise to public office."

"Hell, Dad, before it's all over, I may be pleading with you, 'Why didn't you run instead of me?'"

Despite the contrast in personality, the affection between the two men was apparent. During the recent campaign, Bart often strategized with his dad; sometimes they included David, and sometimes they shared confidences alone. Sam motioned for them to sit down.

"I'll get right to the point. There are some negative reasons you should not consider running for the upcoming Senate seat. The first is that the sister cities, Mesa, Tempe, and Gilbert present a formidable base. They don't want to weaken their position to someone from Tucson, especially since a natural rivalry exists between the locales. Further, if you announce so soon that you're running, there will be an uproar. People don't like a job-hopper in politics. They will feel taken advantage of, that you were just using the county attorney's office as a stepping stone. We're going to have to address that issue head on and figure out how to explain it."
"May I add something?" David half-raised his hand, seeking recognition.

"Sure, go right ahead," said Sam.

"Although I'm not sure that Bart should run, but if, hypothetically, he were to so announce, I would recommend a direct frontal attack. The time has come for the power base in Maricopa to face some strong opposition. By way of analogy, when someone runs for national office against a Washington insider, he often attacks Washington's insider politics and its power blocs. In our case, I suggest that we tag the eventual opposing candidate as a pawn, a child of the power base. Sure, we run the risk of turning off many voters in Maricopa, but I think that there are just as many disgruntled, independent, broad-minded voters in Maricopa that are sick and tired of the same insiders sucking their blood all the time."

"I like it already," Bart said. "I'd be happy to hammer those selfish bastards who are always pushing their weight around."

"Would you do the same if a newcomer from Maricopa, rather than someone who is hard core, were to run against you?" asked Sam.

Bart quickly rose from his chair, noticeably transformed, as if he were ready to address a new group of believers. He held his head high, and his shoulders naturally retreated, as if he were standing at attention. "That's still okay. I can claim that he is a captive of the party bosses, and if he isn't, he soon will be. Otherwise, he'll fail to receive the party's nomination. The insiders have been going at it too long up
there. They view our state as the state of Maricopa. They caucus and they decide. We need some true statewide representation; that's why I will be running. I want to severely weaken that power base. It's time that a freethinker, who is not held captive, represents us in Washington. I didn't plan on running so early, but sometimes fate steps in, and I feel compelled to run for the office."

Sam said, "Spoken as if you're about to hit the campaign trail. I like it. Sometimes you just have to come out with fists flying and keep at it repeatedly. Let me spell out what may support your attack approach. Please bear with me. I know how you fellas feel about Barney Stone, and I don't want to pull any punches. He hatched the plan that I'm about to show you. Before I lay it all out, it is important that you know that I have some control over him, and it has nothing to do with money. I won't go into detail, but prestige is important to Barney, and that's something that money can't always buy."

"Okay, Dad, fire away."

Sam sat back in his swivel chair and turned, facing the Rincon Mountains to the east. The partner's offices, which took up the entire tenth floor, furnished a series of panoramic views of the different mountain formations that surrounded the city. He walked to the window and pointed to the Rincon Mountains to the east.

"Although we cannot detect them from this distance, the tallest saguaro cacti in the world grow within the Saguaro Natural Forest. It has been designated as a national park. Circumstantially, Barney owns a substantial parcel of pristine acreage adjacent to the park; it
contains identical cacti and foliage and is a natural habitat for bighorn sheep, javelinas, and jaguars. In the instant case, he has come up with a very insightful business plan."

David already knew a great deal of the story. Bennett had given him the inside scoop a few months before. He said, "I think I know what Barney wants in exchange for his land."

Sam turned to David and said, "Go on, David. Tell us what you know."

David tensed, feeling a little ill at ease. He was sorry that he opened up his mouth. He was in the presence of two very close family members; the discussion was really their show, and he should have lain back. However, now that he was asked to keep going, he had no choice but to continue.

"As I understand it, what Barney has in mind is a land exchange of his land adjacent to the national park in return for land owned by the federal government with considerable frontage on the highway. The land on the highway is worth a lot more, and Barney is willing to pay out of his own pocket for the price differential once fair value is established by appraisal. Frankly, we have to be very careful. This transaction will be watched by many different factions and it will be necessary to make sure that the valuations are fair and equitable. Otherwise, it could be a political nightmare."

Sam then joined in. "I might add that Barney intends to get the environmentalists involved. He expects to receive their full endorsement because the land is a natural wildlife habitat. In fact, I
believe that the president of the Sierra Club will testify before Congress, if necessary."

"So, knowing how Barney operates, how does he plan to entice me to run? What's he offering?" asked Bart.

"Barney has come up with an extremely creative idea; the man can be amazing. What he has in mind is to round up ten leaders of stature in southern Arizona who will commit to each raise $100,000 of which they will contribute a portion of that amount themselves. Barney first wanted contributors from around the state, but I objected. I said that they all had to come from Pima County, or at least from southern Arizona; he ended up agreeing. Barney also plans on making banking arrangements to provide the funds in advance until all the money is raised."

"That borders on the fantastic," said David. "I'm sure that Mr. Fix-It will come out way ahead, just as he plans."

Bart asked, "Are you saying that these ten individuals will put up the money at the very start of the campaign?"

Sam answered quietly, "They will, as I say, with the help of Barney's banking arrangements."

"And all he is asking, if I agree to run, is to continue to maintain the commitment that Hap made to proceed with the land exchange."

"Simply put, it's politically a sound commitment because, as I mentioned, you will have the support of the environmentalists who will stand behind it."
"How do I know that Barney can be trusted? Won't he keep asking for more down the road? Isn't that his usual way of doing business? As I understand it, he keeps returning to the well and doesn't stop," said Bart.

"Not this time," his dad responded. "I hold a trump card. Please keep this under your hat. Barney is the token Jew in our country club. That gives him a great deal of prestige. It's the only thing that he treasures as much as money. He knows, and I don't have to even talk about it, that if he ever breaches a promise to me, I will personally see to it that his standing in the club is severely jeopardized, maybe terminated. I don't care if I lose him as a client. As an aside, and as additional protection for you, Bart, I told Barney that I would handle this as a legal matter and that I would be billing him. This provides the added protection that all these conversations are privileged and shall remain absolutely confidential. Also, in order to tighten my communication with Barney, I am going to prepare a memorandum of understanding, spelling out each detail. I will tell Barney that you insist that he sign it before you go ahead. Of course, before I submit it to Barney, I will share it with you and David first for review and approval."

"David, what do you think?" asked Bart.

"I can see where your dad is making this as tight an understanding as is possible. Making political commitments is always tough for me. I often feel somehow that something shady is underway. In this case, though, it's easy to justify the deal, because it
really is the right thing to do. How can anyone object to the betterment of the national park, even though Barney may profit on the transaction? I do think we should find out who the ten sponsors are and what we can expect of them. We also have to make sure that the campaign controls the one million dollars, that it's all put up in advance, and that no part of the money is used as an advertising trade-out, or some other form of offsetting credit," said David. "If they wish, we can supply them with monthly accountings. Though they will not have control, they may voice objections to any expenditures, but we must inform them that we have the right to disagree with them and do it our way."

Sam added, "I'm going to set forth in a memorandum that I will draft that all ten sponsors agree to run a full-page ad at their cost in about six months to announce their financial support. In the ad, they will state their reasons for endorsing Bart for national office so soon after he just became county attorney. The ad will also specify that they have paid for the cost of the advertisement."

David looked in Bart's direction. "If you do decide to go ahead, you'll also have to decide whether to resign or stay as county attorney. If you do stay in office, I recommend that you plan early who will be your second in command, who will take charge in your absence. This will probably be your weakest point, and I hope it is not your Achilles' heel. After all, when you won the election, the understanding was that you would be a full-time county attorney."
"Indeed," Sam said, "you are correct, David. I've often said that politics is a matter of timing, and there always are give-ups."

"Perhaps the way to get around the so-called Achilles' heel is for the ten sponsors to openly face this issue in their ad, which we will help compose. That will minimize the heat on Bart," said David.

"Is it a go, fellas?" asked Sam. "If so, I will meet with Barney and make arrangements to meet with the ten sponsors. I'll set it up in a secluded spot. No one must know about this meeting."

No one spoke; Bart and David each were looking to the other for comment. Simultaneously, as if they were responding to an unknown prompt of some kind, they began talking over each other. David quickly stopped. Bart understood—this was his show. He turned to his dad. "Okay. Let's do it." They arose in unison, ending the meeting. Bart and David departed, very weary. Much had just occurred.
THE VENGEFUL UNHINGED

A PLANNED RISK

Sam had his secretary call Barney to arrange a meeting as soon as possible. When they met, Sam had a very solemn look about him. He was beginning to envision the magnitude of the event taking place and his son's involvement. After they had exchanged a few pleasantries, Sam said, "I had a meeting with Bart and David yesterday. We discussed the Senate campaign at some length. We focused on Bart's weak spots, and there are quite a few. In any event, it was decided that we need a meeting with the ten sponsors right away. We have to make sure that they are committed and will agree from time to time to lend a hand, maybe set up a fundraiser and God knows what else."

Sam paused. His voice took on a scholarly tone. "Before I go further, I had better understand fully your relationship with Hap Richardson. I want to know how it came about. That includes your financial support for him, his support for you in return, and how certain you are that he is willing to publicly come out in support of Bart. I'm sure you are aware that if he comes out for Bart, it will become very confrontational. He will be opposing the power bloc in Maricopa County, who have stood behind him and supported him for many years."

"You're right, and I doubt that he would make the move if he were not leaving office. I think that down deep he is a man of conviction, and he is tired of doing the bidding of the big boys and
always doing what is in his best interest politically. Yet he is still being political, because many of his colleagues in the Senate see the benefit of acquiring the additional land for the national park."

"Thanks for sharing that info. You know that nothing goes beyond these four walls; it is absolutely confidential. You and I have had a wonderful friendship, which I plan on maintaining both on and off the golf course. After all, some day you and I are going to become old and gray, remain good friends, and forget about all this silliness called 'career.' Then we're going to sit on a park bench and reminisce about all the confidences that we shared and argue who's the better golfer."

"I'm not sure that's fair. I already know that I will lose any argument with you." Barney edged his chair back, stretched his shoulders, and stood up. "Do you mind if I stand? Sometimes it's best that I move around. I don't know whether I'm burning excess energy or I like to pace up and down because I feel in command, which, I confess, is a strength and a weakness. Anyway, here is the complete story from the beginning. I started supporting Hap about five years ago. To gain his attention, I made some very sizable donations. We became very close over time. He acknowledged that I was one of his largest contributors. He asked me on more than one occasion what he could do for me in appreciation. I put him off. Frankly, I already had something in mind, but I thought that I should be patient, work my way in closer. Eventually, I became his confidant. Then I called in the chit."
Sam noticed Barney's eyes widening; Barney was pleased with himself. "I must hand it to you," Sam said. "You really know how to play the game. Of course, you have the money. To a politician, that's equal to a glamour queen charming a movie producer. What next?"

"I told him about my exchange idea. Hap saw nothing wrong with it and after we strategized, he went on to form a coalition of senators in support of the transition."

"Barney, let me stop you for a moment." Now Sam stood up and began to walk in a small circle. "I see what you mean. Standing up is a good way to think and release tension. The problem is that the public, the media, and any opposition you have will examine the appraisals carefully."

"I'm not that naive, Sam. The entire transaction depends upon appraisals. I have two favorite appraisers in mind who have helped me before. I have given each of them a high volume of business.

They will bend somewhat, but they have professional stretch limitations. This deal will be a public event. They won't be able to fudge much. In fact, we may have to use appraisers that the government chooses."

Barney paused and looked directly at Sam, trying to get a reading from his eyes. "Sam, let me put you at ease. I don't want to go to the slammer; their guests eat ham sandwiches, and I enjoy filet mignon. My property is very beautiful and would be very attractive as an add-on to the national park, but on the open market, it's just another interior piece of land. In fact, a developer would have a tough
time putting dense housing on it because of the rough terrain, and also because it may be an animal habitat. The bottom line is, I will have to come out of pocket to buy the state's frontage property.

"Barney, I must admit I was a little worried that there might be some questionable valuations that if Bart got involved could possibly ruin his career."

"Look at it this way." Barney moved to a blackboard set back in a corner of the office. He drew two squares, one along the highway.

This represents the Saguaro National Park. Here is my site, which is adjacent to the park. Two miles away is the state land with all the commercial frontage. Sam, in about thirty years, I expect to make between fifty million and one hundred million dollars on that land. Now you know why I'm prepared to come out of pocket if the appraisals are not high enough."

"So what you want from Bart is his assurance that he will continue along the same path as Hap has undertaken to protect your position."

"That's the idea," said Barney.

"Now let me tell you about the only fly in the ointment," said Sam. "I'm going to do some research, but I think that your guarantee of one million dollars will be considered a form of campaign contribution and must be publicly declared."

"Sam, that's why I respect you as a lawyer. Sometimes you give me legal advice that I don't want to hear, but usually it's correct. If I
must disclose, though I may curse you under my breath, I'm prepared to do so."

"Barney, I must say, you are leaps ahead of everyone else." "Well, thanks, Sam. I think I'll sit now. My ego trip is over."

"Not quite. This Sunday I shall show you no mercy, when we clash with clubs instead of words."

Barney laughed and playfully stuck out his tongue.

When Barney left his office, Sam's thoughts flared as loudly as the spoken word: Today, Barney, you spoke and acted in a fairmanner, but I hope you don't think that you pulled the wool over my eyes. I know what motivates you. It's greed, pure and simple. You did a beautiful job of playacting today.

***

David arranged a lunch with Freddie and his three other campaign captains. David had called the meeting to show his appreciation for their efforts. As was expected, they exchanged political tidbits, and David casually mentioned his confidential reason for the meeting. "I can't say much right now, but there is a written plan being drawn up. It's actually meritorious, but if taken out of context, it could lead to very tragic results. You all have been very helpful to Bart and me. Preliminarily, I would like to know if each of you would be interested if our committee gears up again." All four quickly agreed to help again. They liked playing an important part in heavy-duty politics, especially since they had produced a winner.
Freddie immediately called Mason to furnish him with an update on David's latest political possibility. When David had used the word 'tragic', Freddie's ears had perked up. He told Mason that a possible new campaign might begin soon and that David had spoken about a written plan that he was working on. Mason listened intensely.

"Freddie, you've done well so far. We hurt David Sherwood with the disclosure of that phony meeting with the mayor and city councilman. He's damn lucky that he was able to wiggle his way out of it. I'd like to see this new plan when it is complete. Can you make a copy to send me? Knowing the way that politicians work, I would just like to see if there's any dirt in it. Freddie, use whatever means are necessary, but get that plan."

"That will be easy," Freddie said. "I'll keep in touch with David to find out when he receives the plan. Once I find out, I'll go to his office in the evening. I'll show the cleaning lady a letter on his stationery with his forged signature, authorizing me to enter his office and obtain a file."

"Where the hell did you get some of his stationery?"

"I swiped a ream of it months ago. I figured it would come in handy someday."

"One other thing," Mason said. "I'm married now and running a nightclub called Moon Glow. I want you to call me only on my private line. Please keep this very confidential."
Freddie jotted down the number and put it in a rear compartment in his desk drawer at home. Two weeks later, David told Freddie the plan was completed. That evening Freddie entered the offices of Altman, Silver, and Sherwood. He showed the purported signed letter, which he had drafted, showing the purpose for his entry to David's office. Luckily, the political plan, so named, was visible atop David's desk. Freddie took out an expensive Leica camera, which he had stolen from a photographer's shop, and quickly made photocopies of the document signed by Sam Langley and Barney Stone. While there, Freddie visited the supply room and dipped his capricious fingers into an abundance of materials, as an added bonus. He acquired three color markers, four pens, six legal pads, a bag of hard candies, and two reams of typing paper. As he exited the premises, he thought to himself, Heck, this is small compensation forall the work that I did in Bart's campaign. He grinned broadly andbegan to hum a tune, an Elvis specialty, "Love me Tender."

Mason read the plan with great interest but took no action for three months. He purposely waited, to protect Freddie. He figured that in three months others would know about the document, and in any event, by that time any leak could not be traced back to Freddie. He also wanted to find out whether the plan was gaining any traction.

Once Mason learned that the plan was, in fact, operational, he called Barney Stone.

After Mason waited more than ten minutes, Barney came on line. "Hello, this is Barney."
"Hi, Barney, this is Mason Grewe. You don't know me, but I used to live in Tucson."

"Yes, I know of you, though I haven't met you personally. I read the blurb in the newspaper that the State Bar had ruled against you," Barney said as tactfully as he knew how.

Mason overrode the nicety. "Thank you for being polite," he said. "To put it bluntly, I was sabotaged by a fellow lawyer in Tucson that you know, David Sherwood, and because of his treachery, I was disbarred."

"I understand," said Barney, quickly realizing that he had to handle the call delicately. "How can I help you, Mr. Grewe?"

"I know about your plan to get Bart Langley elected for the US Senate, including the fact that ten high-powered sponsors are jointly committing one million dollars. That's serious money. I'm thinking of leaking the information to the press with the idea of wrecking the plan. I decided to run this by you. I saw your signature on a document. I know of your past successes and decided to see what else could be worked out."

Barney immediately recognized that Mason was full of hatred and could sabotage everything that he had been working on for years. He filled his response with warmth. "Mason, I understand that you want to hurt David Sherwood. Frankly, I don't blame you. I want to bring him down myself. My reasons are different, but we share the same common goal. On the other hand, if you blow the whistle on this plan, you hurt everyone, including me, but not David Sherwood. He
will walk away unscathed, since he has little to do with the Plan. In effect, he's just a pawn working for Bart. Bart and his dad will be substantially harmed, but I don't think that's your aim or purpose. I've got a better idea. What if you and I join forces in the future, when the timing is right, and together we send David off to bye-bye land?"

"You make a lot of sense, Barney. I'm a patient man. I know that you're financially well off, but I can bring additional resources to the table. We may even be able to broadside him from two different angles."

"Exactly, Mason. I can see something happening that will make us both very happy."

"Okay, Barney. I'll walk away for now, but please do not let me down in the future. I can be nice, and I can be very not nice."

"Mason, I'm glad you called. Let's keep in touch."

The two men rang off. Barney took a deep breath; he was relieved that he could put Mason on hold. That conversation potentially could have been a disaster in the making. He wondered, How the hell did Mason find out about the Plan? One thing wascertain: David Sherwood was not responsible for the leak. Barney knew that David would have nothing to do with Mason.
THE VENGEFUL UNHINGED

GOLD IS STRUCK

The wheels were churning. Sam set up a meeting with the ten financial sponsors, according to the list that Barney had furnished. He felt very uncomfortable when he called David to tell him that it would be best he did not attend the meeting. David's first reaction was one of total surprise, followed quickly by rising anger. Then it dawned on him that this was Barney's show. He was frustrated, but understood the reality of the situation. He wondered if he would now be dumped.

"Okay, Sam, I understand the situation. I'll step aside for the greater good, or should I say for Barney's good." Sizing up the situation, David reflected, Soon, if I remain on board, managementwill be overseeing the sponsors, and he will be at the helm. Then Barney will no longer be directly involved. Good old Barney and his pettiness! Justice can be poetic at times!

Sam and Bart decided that the meeting must be arranged with the utmost of secrecy. Any leaks could destroy everything. Being so careful would also demonstrate to the sponsors their importance to the campaign. Sam brought in an intern, who conducted an investigation of obscure locations. He found a place far south, beyond the city limits, at the Pima County Fairgrounds. Sam then took over. It took some hard selling, but he was finally able to coax the director of the fairgrounds, who ordinarily did not rent any part of the facilities for political purposes, to do so for a steep one-day rental fee. The
director was good enough to tell him to run the blowers, which were very noisy but necessary to keep the room cool.

Sam then asked, "If the room becomes noisy, should we have portable microphones available even though there will be less than fifteen attending the meeting?"

"I would advise it." The director went on to say, with an apprehensive smile that Sam could not see over the phone, "I might add that animals have a way of being noticed. They leave traces, and I wouldn't call it exactly perfume."

Sam nodded affirmatively. "I get it. I'll try to make light of it."

Sam prepared a detailed sketch showing the location, the travel distance, and the shortest route to get there. He purposely avoided lunch hour to ensure greater privacy and to speed up the meeting.

It was agreed that Sam would chair the meeting. Barney would attend but would not sit at the head table, nor would he ask any questions or participate in any of the discussion. Sam would introduce Bart, who would make a few welcoming remarks and shy away from any serious statements. They had decided to stay away from the issues; the purpose of the meeting was to get organized, discuss fundraisers, review donors to contact, and make arrangements for possible speaking engagements. They were in for a surprise.

The room was cavernous. The small setting, consisting of a rented head table and fifteen folding chairs, was like a small,
insignificant traveling group sitting in the ballroom of a large ocean liner. Sam, Bart, and Barney arrived early, as the director had advised; the fact that they were at the fairgrounds was noticeable immediately. Sam quickly realized that the blast from the blowers, the whip-like whoosh from the slashing, oversized ceiling fans, and the penetrating barnyard odor were a terrible way to start the campaign. He hoped that Bart would be in good form. At best, he would find the surroundings challenging to overcome.

Sam and Bart stationed themselves at the entry door to greet each arrival, knowing that each of them would put on a "pretend face" as if there were no distractions and certainly no obnoxious odors. The sponsors arrived punctually. Most knew each other, but there were a few exceptions, and Sam did his best to introduce everyone to each other. Casual conversation soon flowed easily between these leaders of various fields of endeavor, who were used to large gatherings and meeting new people. Everyone, except for Barney, wore a dark suit; blue prevailed, but there were a few dark grays and blacks.

Bart was effervescent. The idea of running for a US Senate seat so early in his career had elevated his spirits; he was soaring, the sky had no limits. To prepare for the meeting, he had reviewed a picture of each of the invitees and memorized their names and career backgrounds. He went so far as to gather a little information about each attendees' personal life and family. He impressed them as he greeted each by their first name. It wasn't long before they formed a circle around him. To Bart's surprise, most of the conversation concerned his recent engagement. Apparently, the fact that the
sponsors knew Meredith Landow, Julie's father, had quickened the spread of the news that he was running. Some of the guests also acknowledged that they had made stock market trades using Meredith's services. When Sam sensed the appropriate time, he broke in and asked everyone to be seated so they could begin the meeting, although everyone wanted to keep talking to Bart.

Sam remained standing at the head table as Bart drew back a chair to sit at his side. "Good afternoon. Speaking for both Bart and myself, we welcome you and look forward to getting to know each of you personally. Our appreciation for your support is beyond words, beyond gratitude. Bart and I sincerely thank you. I must apologize for choosing this room. My desire for privacy blinded my judgment.

"I don't have much to say. We expect that your public endorsement and the size of your magnificent pledges will impact all of Arizona. We understand that each of you has made a significant personal contribution and further intends to raise funds from others to fulfill the total of your pledge. We feel confident that you will succeed. No one running for office in Tucson has ever made such a dynamic entry in a national campaign. As soon as your ad is published, we expect that many of you will be invited to meet with the media for an interview. That's fine, but we prefer that you set up a group meeting with the media and hand out a prepared press release at the same time. That will be the beginning, not the end, of your participation. Many of you will be asked for an individual interview. That's great, but we urge you to stick to our message. It may get repetitious, but each time you speak to a new group or individual, the message is original.
The key is to maintain consistency. You can always contact us if you want to discuss any issue or offer feedback.

"The size of your joint commitments will capture the hearts and minds of all readers and listeners. We have retained a professional publicist, Mark Harwood, who is very experienced and has worked on many political campaigns. He will arrive in about one hour. When we conclude with Q and A, Mark will furnish you with a list of questions to expect and will lay out some suggested responses for your consideration. They will only be ideas. What you ultimately say will be phrased in your style. Yet his advice should help you to best express our message. Our major approach will be to attack the establishment, to address head on those who repeatedly retain power for the sake of power and continually place individual interests ahead of the people's interest.

"You no doubt will encounter some difficulty at times. We will be treading on the toes of people who you know, and perhaps, consider your friends. It may hinder some of your fundraising. We understand that. However, we believe that if we articulate our message well, though some will feel that you have betrayed them, we will win many more followers, many more believers, because you are putting Arizona first. One of our primary goals will be to weaken the position of the power boys in northern Arizona. Carrying it one step further, some people, especially those heavily involved in politics, are blinded and see it one way and one way only. However, to repeat, using our approach, you will win more personal respect and gain more believers. Frankly, it's about time that a candidate is taking the
people's position. It won't just happen with Bart's election. It's a start, not an end.

"I recognize that Bart is my son, but I hope to run this meeting on a businesslike basis. Any and all of your thoughts are welcome. Do not spare his feelings, nor mine. I wish to acknowledge the presence of Barney Stone, who is with us today. He has been a big help to us. I'm sure that you are aware of the banking arrangements that Barney has made so that we can fund the start of the campaign. Barney has chosen not to take an active role in this meeting; he assures us that he will be an active listener. I might point out that Barney is a client of mine and that certain matters may be confidential, and if so, I will personally advise you. With that, Bart will make a short statement, and then we will open up the meeting for questions."

Before Sam sat down, the question on the tip of everyone's tongue echoed from among the group. "Bart, please tell us, what prompted you to consider running for this office so soon after winning the county job?"

Sam, Bart, and David had rehearsed the answer to the question. They knew it was coming. Bart began his answer while arising. It was apparent that his prepared opening statement was not necessary. "Once Hap Richardson announced his retirement, I recognized that though it was early in my career, it was never too early to make a larger contribution."
With each word he felt more confidence. He wasn't nervous, but the sound of his voice and the fact that he was on the attack encouraged him. Though just a handful of people were present, the group consisted of well-informed and respected leaders in Arizona, but speaking before them, he felt enriched, up to the challenge. He raised his head a notch higher.

"Further, although I know that many of you do business in northern Arizona, I think that it is high time that not only southern Arizona but all of Arizona were represented in the US Congress.

Granted, the county attorney's office is an important position, and I wish I could serve in the job for the full term, but I feel compelled to seek this greater responsibility. It will be a challenge, but I believe it will be a bigger one for my opponent. Let me be clear: there is no doubt that your open support, and the publicity that it will generate, will substantially help me leap out ahead of any opponent. I promise you one thing. At all times I shall campaign as hard as I can throughout the state without letup.

"I promise to work with you and to regularly keep you informed. I shall organize a strong staff, and one of the first things we will do is set up an informative newsletter to go out monthly. Please let me know your ideas at any time. I am a listener. I am always interested in anything that will help me grow personally, which, in turn, will strengthen my candidacy."
Nelson Middleton, CEO of Fairmount Mining Company, quickly spoke up. "I trust you realize that you will need considerably more money than what we are initially pledging."

"The funds that you are initially providing pose a threat to others seeking the office, but that won't stop serious candidates. I will not rest until I reach my goal of twenty-five million dollars. I plan on traveling throughout the state to raise this amount. I welcome any fundraisers that you care to set up. I also hope that you will be able to assist me in parts of the state where you have contacts. Please furnish me with the names of any key people you know. Occasionally, if you will make a well-placed call and introduce me, so much the better. I anticipate that once your announcement is published, others will step up and make sizable contributions. If any of you wish to appear at a fundraiser to endorse me, I would be very grateful."

"What are some of the main issues that you will be pushing in the race?" asked Dalton Colby, a commercial real estate broker always at the top in sales from Flagstaff, a community in northern Arizona, notoriously opposed to machine politics.

"Well, politically it is wise to stress tax reformation, the growing national debt, and the growing concern that Social Security will be in the red in the years to come. Although there is a great deal of rhetoric back and forth on both sides, Congress is at loggerheads in both the House and in the Senate and is unable to pass legislation on these key issues. I will attempt to break the deadlock by identifying those who are creating the stalemates, and so naming them. I will be
unpopular in some circles, but it will be vitally necessary. I will also focus on issues that have a greater chance of passing, which I can endorse. Three immediately come to mind: greater recognition of women's rights, tightening up privacy rights, and budgeting additional dollars for medical research. While I don't have concrete solutions at this time, I intend to prepare position papers on these issues, and there will be others."

Inevitably, the question came up about Barney Stone's anticipated exchange of his land to the federal government. Bart was quick to reply. "I see that Barney is with us today, but I will tell you exactly where I stand. The Saguaro National Park will considerably benefit if his land is added. The saguaro density is enormous on his land. On top of that, it's a habitat for wildlife, primarily bighorn sheep, and from what I understand, jaguars and javelinas have also been sighted. Better protection for these animals is needed. If the forest rangers are given the ultimate responsibility to cultivate and maintain them, they will build larger herds and a healthier habitat. So yes, although Barney may benefit financially, if he is willing to pay the added cost of acquiring the property on I-10, I will endorse the purchase, but allow me to emphasize, I will personally scrutinize the appraisals very, very carefully to assure that the government receives full value, and no one unduly profits from the transaction."

Raised hands suddenly lowered as Mark Harwood, the publicist, approached the head table. Sam quickly arose and shook hands with him, saying, "Mark, it is so good of you to join us. We are in the midst of Q and A, and I know that there are many more
questions on the minds of the group. I'm sorry, I had intended that you would lead the discussion soon, but I'm not sure that will happen. In any event, I think it advisable that you grasp the momentum that I believe is occurring in this room. At the end of the meeting, I would ask that you hand out your list of prepared suggestions and media releases. I know that you plan on also meeting with each person individually at a later date. That way you can discuss strategy, talk to Bart, and work to possibly add to your message as a result of those later discussions."

Mark, in line with the style that dominated the room, wore a dark-navy suit. Though he was older by ten years, his image was similar to Bart's, with a thick shock of blond hair, a youthful bearing, and a disposition that easily broke into a broad smile. Turning to the group, he said, "I look forward to meeting each one of you. Your support of Bart, frankly, is a five-star public relations bonanza. Already, my head is whirring; I can't wait to get started. Let us proceed with your questions."

Guests continued to propound questions for the next two hours without stop. Bart remained alert throughout, and his answers were incisive. Sam was impressed that his son handled himself so well. Some of the questions were difficult or awkward, but Bart addressed those head on and admitted, at times, that he was not familiar enough with the subject to furnish a complete answer.

"When I complete my research, I will send you all my position on any incomplete answers today." Bart quickly jotted the
questioner's name on a small notepad that fit in his shirt pocket. Though they would send the eventual response to all present, Bart and Mark had previously discussed the importance of mentioning each questioner's name in any follow-up sent to all.

Toward the end, Bart figured that most of his responses had been acceptable. Of course, there had to be disagreements on some issues, but he had expected that. They found him to be straightforward, middle of the road, and socially conscious, but fiscally conservative. The hard left or the hard right would be turned off, but he figured that the sponsors before him, selected by Barney, were more receptive to balanced answers.

Nearing the end of the meeting, Mr. Television, Morgan Jamison, jumped up. He was a respected retailer known for his intuitive assessments of what the retail public wants. He owned department stores in both Phoenix and Tucson and personally hosted many of his refreshing commercials, which he always concluded with his trademark motto, "Bye, and remember, at Jamison's, tomorrow is today."

He tossed out a unique idea. "If I may be so bold, Bart, I think we should label you the Golden Boy, and that we so identify you in our ad. I can personally attest to its brand worth. When I opened my first store, I named it Value Heaven. My wife thought it was corny, but it caught on in a big way. I'm hoping that the media will latch on to Golden Boy and run with it big-time. You may question the word 'boy' as a downgrade, but it's the type of thing that can catch fire. You can
counter with a statement that though you may be younger, it's your maturity as a candidate with refreshing new ideas that the public must judge. I think the brand will add to the magic of your sudden appearance on the public scene."

Simon Leventhal, the owner of a chain of radio stations and a known political junkie, asked, "Talking about magic, is there any magic in waiting six months to publish the ad? Let's break the news and run the ad immediately. That will give the campaign a further head start and help prevent ugly rumors that may crop up."

Bart was all for it, but he felt this decision was up to Barney. As Bart turned in his direction, Barney caught the cue. Known to be a poor dresser, he wore an open collar, and he was the only one wearing a sports jacket without matching slacks. He remained in his seat but turned to face everyone.

"I will call Hap tomorrow and explain your wishes. We had planned to run the ad to coincide with Hap's retirement in six months, but upon second thought, that's not absolutely necessary. I'm confident that he will go along, but he should be asked as a courtesy. If there is any reason why we can't break out sooner, he'll let me know. Also, while I have your attention, I have asked Hap if he would serve as an honorary chairman of the campaign. He agreed to do so once he retires, and I have more good news. Cameron Monroe, who many of you know and who has been Hap's chief of staff for the past ten years, informed me earlier today that he would be willing to serve as a co-chairman of the campaign with David Sherwood. Cam is a
great fundraiser and would be in charge of northern Arizona, while David would captain all of the southern part of the state. Cam has numerous contacts throughout Arizona, and those down here he will pass on to David.

"Hap and Cam will add a lot of muscle to the campaign. They are each well known and well liked. All of Hap's reelections were won by a wide margin. Cam said he is willing to roll up his sleeves and get started as soon as we give him the go-ahead. He said that he is looking forward to working with David and would like to talk to him soon." On impulse, the unspoken third host of the meeting suddenly sprang up; his rounded, stooped shoulders leaned into the group. With a burst of enthusiasm, he raised his two fists and began flaring them in short hammer-style bursts, as his voice, reaching higher pitches, bellowed, "Gentlemen, I think that we have a groundswell underway."

"You betcha, Barney," came one voice. Another followed with, "DC, here we come."

True to form, used to making his own decisions, Barney already was doing it again without talking things over with Sam and Bart beforehand. Bringing Hap and Cam was a brilliant idea, but it was a complete surprise to them. They knew that they would have to talk to Barney. He had to be told that all decisions must be made only with their prior approval. They must maintain a tight ship. The further counterpoint was that David also had to be consulted.
As the meeting concluded and the group hurriedly began to depart from the uncomfortable room, they experienced an unusual contradiction. They had met in unglamorous surroundings and walked out with a glamorous candidate. They all felt the uplift, a surge from within; they were marching to a new drumbeat. The Golden Boy was on his way!

Soon, to everyone's amazement, as Barney pointed out, groundswell would begin to accelerate at a faster pace than experienced eyes had ever witnessed before. Mark Harwood's sequential advertising plan would contribute mightily!

***

As soon as Bart said good-bye to the last guest and reviewed what had taken place with Sam and Barney, he knew what he now must do immediately. As he approached his car, the self-generating energy system that dictated his upbeat performance suddenly stopped functioning. He actually got down on one knee in the parking lot, took a breath, and slowly got up; he was totally drained. He entered his car, turned on soft music, leaned back, and closed his eyes, and within moments he was napping.

When he awakened, his first thoughts were about David. He felt terrible that he had not been invited to the meeting and hadn't shared in the liberating experience. Now he was troubled; would David be comfortable operating on a co-chairman basis with Cameron Monroe, who was reputed to be a shrewd political strategist possessing strong fundraising abilities?
Then his thoughts turned to Julie, his adorable partner, with whom he would share his life and love every moment of their mutual adventure. He couldn't wait to see her. He had so much to tell her, so much to share with her. He wondered: Would she be able to cope with his traveling so often out of town? He knew he would miss her terribly. Yet he knew that he was committed; he would press on.

He had more to share with her, including a surprise that no one, not even his dad or Barney, knew about. It came about at the end of the meeting. As everyone left the building, Mr. Television, Morgan Jamison, held back and then casually walked up to Bart. "Mind if I talk to you as we leave?"

"Not at all, Morgan." Bart had made it a part of his new discipline to acknowledge the names of those he talked to, especially supporters. When Morgan's idea unfolded before him, Bart was overwhelmed; it was an awesome idea, but it raised an immediate concern. Again he questioned: How would he ever explain it to Julie? Telling her would require the utmost of delicacy. He recognized that he would be asking a lot of her. Was it asking too much? He would soon find out.

As soon as he plopped into his favorite sprawl chair at home, he called her. He was tired, but he couldn't wait. "Honey, what are you doing? I must see you immediately."

"Oh, my big, strong savior, come rescue me. My mom and I have been addressing wedding invitations all day, and I'm turning blue. I'm so darn bored that I'm ready to scream. Mom has started to
make dinner, so I've been continuing on without her, and I'm starting to talk to the walls. Thank God you've called; you have saved me. Where and when do you want to meet?"

Bart chuckled; he always appreciated her wit. She would be a charmer in Washington. "We just finished our meeting with the sponsors. How about meeting me at Coffee Dan's at the El Con Mall in twenty minutes? One other thing. I love you," he said on a feathery breath.

"That's music to my ears. I treasure you, dear heart. See you in twenty."

Julie was already seated when Bart arrived. He didn't realize how long the drive from the fairgrounds would take. Wisely, she had chosen a booth in the rear. Since it was not quite five in the evening, there were few people in the restaurant. The lights had been turned low. He rushed over, planted a lingering kiss on her eager lips, and sat down across from her.

"While you have a lot to tell me, I can already tell the meeting was a huge success," she said, beaming. If her face had really turned blue from addressing envelopes, she had recovered completely. Her complexion was as fair as the morning dawn. Each time that Bart met with her, her appearance and overall bearing, her vigor and enthusiasm, her love of life eliminated any tension or stress that he may have experienced during the day.

"You're right, my darling, but guess what? I think my news is good news, and yet it may be disappointing. I know that sounds like a
contradiction, but here goes. Mark called me while I was riding over here. My announcement that I'm running for the US Senate will now break in just a few days. The support of the ten leaders will break in the news immediately after that. He also told me that we will not call them the ten sponsors anymore; they are now the ten leaders. He then said that was just the beginning; he has lots of other good stuff to ignite the campaign."

Julie interrupted. "I think I see where you're going."

"You always do catch on quickly. I know you have your heart set on planning our wedding date before the announcement breaks." He hesitated, knowing that a pause can be an effective way to communicate. With a feeling of trepidation, he continued feeling the rising heat of embarrassment. "I think that we're going to have to postpone our wedding date. Please do not get mad at me, but I can see already that we're going to sometimes have to jump through hoops as plans change. I have more news. What I'm about to tell you will blow you away."

Julie's immediate reaction was anger. Quickly she grabbed hold of the rising emotion and admonished herself. Hey, girl, if you'regoing to live with this man, who has chosen a public life, it's going to require adjustments, sometimes quick ones. After all, you're going to be dancing on the big stage.

"I can't wait to find out your other news," she enthused, "but I want you to know that as Mrs. Bart Langley, I plan on supporting you in your career, and that will sometimes mean interruptions and
delays. I don't know if I told you, but I want to go to Washington as much as you do. Now tell me the exciting news."

Bart just sat there and looked at his bride-to-be. She was so aware, so into reality, he couldn't believe his good fortune. How could he lose with her as his political mate? True, she had a mind of her own, but she was smart enough to adjust when necessary. He noticed that she had been adding blond flecks that now streaked her brunette hair. Her blue eyes were alive, emitting enthusiasm, and her pert nose and lush, voluptuous lips were so attractive that he stared at her.

Julie noticed his fixed gaze; she received his message—total love. She had grown so fond of this man that she had begun to fantasize that they were already in Washington and she had already assumed the preeminent position as Senator Langley's wife.

Slowly he returned to the events of the afternoon. "After the meeting today, I spoke with Morgan Jamison, the owner of the Value Heaven department stores, who is very effective at selling his product lines. Apparently, he has contacts with People magazine. He told me that if we wish, he thinks he can make arrangements for them to come to Tucson, run a story, and take pictures prior to our wedding. He said that, although I have not been elected as a senator, I am now the county attorney, and since I am pushing onward, he thinks it would make great magazine copy."

The wow factor hit her like a ton of bricks. For the first time, that special excitement, sometimes referred to as political fever, ran
through her like an electrical current. With whimsy in her voice and coyness in her thoughts, she said, "You know, what's most difficult is not delaying our wedding date; it's that I'm beginning to see less and less of you. Have you noticed that I'm starting to grow horns on my head?"

Bart got the message. Arousal teased his loins. "We must do something about that immediately."

"What do you have in mind?" she asked innocently.

"We're leaving immediately. We're going to my, excuse me, our house."

"Oh my."

The couple left hurriedly in Bart's car. Julie's concern that she was not spending enough time with Bart certainly did not apply the remainder of that afternoon, or that evening, or the following day, until the late afternoon. It was then that they picked up Julie's car in the parking lot, aware for the first time that they were worn out from their nonstop frolicking.
THE VENGEFUL UNHINGED

ANIMOSITY FERMENTS

Now that the decision had been made to immediately announce Bart's candidacy, Mark Harwood chose a handful of newspaper and TV news reporters and called them to a meeting with Bart and David. He purposely omitted inviting Joe Tully. Mark figured he was in a lose-lose position. He knew of the confrontation between David and Joe. Certainly Joe's public apology had been rehabilitative, but Mark figured that whether Joe praised or criticized Bart, his story would be subject to attack for lack of impartiality, since Bart was so close to David.

Joe, on the other hand, was pissed. To him a knife had been wedged deep within his shoulder blades. The way he saw it, Bart or David was pulling the strings, and Mark was acting as their surrogate. Joe's apologetic mood had now vanished. He would make it a point to even the score.

Mark had planned a highly creative series of stories that generated one headline after another on a regular basis. He also planned to run regular ads by the ten leaders and others. These were brilliant strategies. After Bart announced that he was running for the Senate seat, a story followed the next day featuring the ten leaders and their endorsement of Bart's candidacy. The two stories had an explosive impact. On the third day came a further announcement by the group of ten, with each committing to raise or personally contribute $100,000 to support Bart's candidacy, and that was only
the beginning. Many calls followed to contribute. On the fourth day, there was another splash. A full-page advertisement ran, showing pictures of the ten leaders, highlighting their business background, and airing personal notes of endorsement. The effect was overwhelming. Never before had a candidate running for office had such a dynamic opening. It created national news. Bart's picture, depicting him as the Golden Boy, in turn generated an entire series of follow-up articles, television releases, and editorial commentary.

For another set of eyes and ears, the breakout news set off a series of headaches. Nathanial Thorpe, the feared, undisputed power broker, the boss of northern Arizona, was terribly upset. Nathanial was the only name anyone in their right mind would use when addressing him. To call him Nate, Nat, or Thorpe would earn the man's wrath; he would never forget that. Many years earlier, he had formed a network of differing personalities with separate, private agendas and turned them into a combine that was large enough to control the bulk of Arizona's state and national elections with an iron fist. The man made his reputation by delivering results.

To ensure favored majorities in the state senate and house, and to foster his chosen candidates for the US Congress, he had to deliver the right kind of candidate. Nathanial maintained the same disciplines practiced by the likes of Tammany Hall, Mayor Daley of Chicago, or Lyndon Johnson. Short and squat, with pinched features and big eyes, he resembled a bulldog. The top of his head was a hairless dome that shone in reaction to light from above. His lack of physical attractiveness did not interfere with his dominant leadership
or with his impeccable taste for fine clothing tailored to his unattractive body.

Nathanial and his obedient followers were appalled, surprised, and madder than hell. At least five of Bart's ten leaders were past loyalists, whom he regularly could count on to go along with his dictates, in return for quick access to a candidate or assured delivery on promises made. Confusion swept over Nathanial and his team as they realized that they had no plan and no candidate. This brash kid, called the Golden Boy, had even received the endorsement of Hap Richardson. The man was still in office but had announced that he was endorsing Bart's candidacy. Nathanial took it very personally; he felt that Hap and the ten leaders were thumbing their noses at him.

His aggrieved group hurriedly caucused and followed with emergency calls to his followers in all parts of Arizona to attend a luncheon at the historic Hotel Adams in downtown Phoenix. Nathanial would need all of the skills that he had ever employed. He could readily see that he needed to extract promises from state officeholders, and selected candidates running for other offices, who depended upon him for needed voters. His promises regarding payback were vague, but Nathanial's winks were all that the officeholders and candidates needed. His methods were simple; he made promises, raised sizable money, and paid the understood promises upon a successful election.
Nathanial was wealthier than most Americans. From the time of his birth, his personal wealth, dating back to his family's association with the robber barons at the turn of the century, was established.

His personal unattractiveness was offset by the magnificent beauty of his wife, Samantha, who was bought and amply paid for. She, too, was finicky, insisting that she be called only Samantha; Sam, Sammy, or any other shortened version would result in banishment from her inner circle. Samantha loved to wear expensive jewelry and designer clothes, and on special occasions, she wore an awesome five-carat diamond necklace to adorn her slim neckline. At every public event they attended, Nathanial gave her a list of people to seek out, which automatically brought a flutter to her eyes. She played her part as an art form. She would seek out her prey, always a male, and thrust forward her robust breasts, which were already on display, assisted by undergarments that resisted the laws of gravity. Her warm smiles could melt butter. Little did Nathanial know that she was playing a waiting game.

Sure enough, when Nathanial called, his adherents responded. Nathanial opened the meeting at the Hotel Adams in his usual slow, deliberate way. Though he did not have an exuberant personality, he managed to hold the homogeneous group together in a deadpan style, informing his followers that it was urgent that they find a suitable candidate who could offset Bart Langley's sudden flurry of popularity. They broke into groups and spent a good part of the afternoon deliberating over possible candidates. One by one, they ruled out the proposed names. Nathanial refused to terminate the
meeting until they arrived at a consensus. They recognized that some of their castoffs might run for the office anyway, but they all agreed that they would not work to raise funds or endorse any candidacy that the group did not select. Translated: they would only support a candidate that pleased Nathanial.

They had decided that they needed someone special who had image and power and could command an audience. No single person seemed to emerge from the discussions. What was interesting was as they continued to deliberate, more than once someone within the group slipped up, and referred to Bart as the Golden Boy.

As angst between them continued to grow, a name finally emerged, as if it were plucked from the heavens. Someone fresh, who had never run for office before, but who they knew would be an exceptional performer. He was well informed on the issues, popular, and well connected, and he had developed a recognizable television personality by virtue of his many down-to-earth, folksy business commercials. Thrilled, Nathanial said he would personally call on Brandon Calhoun and arrange to meet with him as soon as possible.

Brandon was a fifty-six-year-old man who had inherited a small car dealership from his father when he was thirty-five years old. In the ensuing years, he had made a series of adroit moves. Cleverly, he methodically had acquired one dealership after another until he blanketed the state. He now represented all the major automobile manufacturers. His dealerships were known for their reliability. If he couldn't deliver a specific car in one city, he could obtain it from an
affiliated dealership in another city. Occasionally, he would have to contact a friendly franchisee out of state, but he would never let a customer down, even if it meant that his margins were diminished. He advertised continually. With so many dealerships, he could spread the costs so that no one dealership was overly burdened. It did not matter to him that one dealership competed with another. His advertising messages on TV and in newspapers delivered so many specials that he forgot them as soon as he made them. His business theory was to offer the lowest prices and best terms to foster growth. He knew that if you built up enough market share, you would make larger-than-ever profits in the long run. His patience had been rewarded.

Once his dealerships had become a controlling force, he slowly raised prices. His repair and maintenance departments, where it was easier to hide higher prices, turned out to be his most profitable divisions. Growth led to the buildup of the largest used-car business, which had higher margins of profit than new car sales. It was safe to say that he had reached the stage where he was printing money.

The big question confronting Nathanial was, how could he get Brandon to break away from his ever-growing business? Brandon Motors, which he named in honor of his father, also named Brandon, after he, Brandon Junior, assumed management. He made the determination early on that having the same first name as his father was a big asset. Brandon's popularity led to participation in many community events. Brandon was often asked to spearhead nonprofit fundraising affairs. He raised millions for various charities. He
became very adept as a master of ceremonies. His introductions of various dignitaries and the principal officers of a charity, together with his expressions of gratitude to those who had worked diligently on the dinner arrangements, often sparkled with good humor and witticisms. When he drew a name to announce a surprise door prize, he often unveiled one of his company's automobiles hidden behind a curtain. He was convinced that serving a just cause was a subtle way of selling more cars. Often many dinner attendees would visit one of his dealerships soon after he hosted an event. Nathanial was aware of his popularity, which Nathanial envisioned would be a substantial benefit in the campaign.

Nathanial met with Brandon at his newest dealership, which featured Mercedes, Jaguar, and Maserati franchises. The building had just been completed, and Nathanial could detect its freshness; especially noteworthy were all the leather seats, refreshment stands, and television sets in the waiting room, where motivated customers congregated. When a customer first entered Brandon Motors, an attractive hostess was on hand to offer free coffee, iced tea, or a soft drink, plus some tasty snacks.

As Brandon greeted Nathanial in his office, he wondered how much he would be asked to cough up, as he often did, for, as Nathanial put it, the good of the party. And Nathanial had already performed in return; his sway with the State Transportation Department was answered: Brandon Motors received a contract to deliver fleets of automobiles throughout the state.
Small talk was anathema to Nathanial. He came right to the point. "I'm here to make a very interesting proposition to you."

"First, tell me how much you want so that I can figure out how much less the company will make this month," Brandon replied with his usual good humor.

"That's just it." Nathanial forced a smile, quite unusual for him, a feature he displayed only when he had something important on his mind. "I'm here to ask something of you, but not of your pocketbook. Before I do so, please listen to everything that I have to say."

"Now I'm beginning to really wonder what this is all about," Brandon said. Beginning to get interested, he stopped shuffling papers on his desk. "What on God's green earth do you have in mind, Nathanial?"

"How would you like to run for the US Senate?"

"You're kidding. Why would I even consider it? I'm a businessman, not a politician."

"As I said, please listen to everything." Nathanial went on. "There is a young stud in Pima County that thinks he's a big shot. I'm talking about Bart Langley, who was just elected Pima County attorney. Can you believe it? The dumb ass now wants to run for Hap's Senate seat. What puzzles me is that the kid has no experience. A month ago Hap didn't even know him, and now Hap has endorsed him. He's really a brash opportunist; he hasn't even
taken office yet. That's round one. Now I'm going to take over on round two and use most of those facts against him."

"I'm beginning to get it," Brandon said, almost in a drawl. "You're asking me to run against the Golden Boy, aren't you? He's already built up a commanding presence with all the publicity, and I understand he already has a bunch of cash to burn, with some high-powered people behind him. Why do you think I should go up against him?"

"I'll make it simple. You can beat him. We can raise as much money. We have more voters in our hip pocket than he could ever muster. He's David attacking Goliath without even a slingshot."

"Wow! It's hard for me to believe what I'm about to say, but strange as it seems, I may be interested. What you say intrigues me. Your timing is very good. Please tell me more."

As Nathanial continued to color in the background, he began to see that Brandon's reaction was much greater than he could have imagined. He had thought he would have a big sales job on his hands. It turned out that, as Brandon had put it, his timing couldn't have been better. The reason was simple. Brandon had a son, Clark, who had graduated from Harvard with an undergraduate degree in accounting and a master's degree in finance and economics. Clark had already been on the workforce for over two years. Brandon and Clark were getting along very well, and Brandon was surprised at how adept he was at management. Clark had introduced various new
operating efficiencies and was gradually taking on more and more duties.

Brandon said, "This may work out very well. If I run for the Senate, I can indirectly continue to promote the business. I see it now. I can also appear on television with Clark and introduce him. We can begin father-son television conversations between us. It will be a win-win situation. I'd like to set up another meeting with you, Nathanial. I have many questions. I also want you to tell me all you know about Bart Langley. I'm interested in knowing your strategy to overcome his early lead. It's a big hurdle to overcome. If I decide to run, I will make a sizable personal contribution to my campaign. I'm thinking of two hundred fifty thousand dollars."

Nathanial's response was quick and simple. "Hell, Brandon, I'll get you up to five million dollars, and lots more, in no time."

***

Nathanial Thorpe and Joe Tully had been in close contact for many years. It was another one of Nathanial's unspoken maneuverings. He would promise Joe inside scoops, and Joe, in turn, would provide big-time, favorable, oftentimes slanted newspaper stories. With any kind of supportable facts, Joe found it easy to discredit people, and Nathanial was very good at uncovering what he needed.

As Joe picked up the phone in response to Nathanial's call, the party leader said with his usual abruptness, "Joe, I'm in a hurry. No
time to talk. This is Nathanial. What I'm about to tell you, I want you to do, and do big-time, including orchestration of the television stations. You can do it. I know it."

"Whoa, Nathanial. Slow down; I'm on your side, remember? What's so urgent? I've never heard you so rushed before."

"That brash kid of yours, the Golden Boy, has a pole up my ass. The little bastard, I'm really out to get him. This is a big-time scoop. Are you ready?"

"I've got my pencil in hand. My notebook is opened. Go for it." Already Joe was interested, but he saw no reason to mention that he wouldn't mind undercutting Bart for personal reasons.

"In three days, one of the strongest candidates I have ever solicited is going to run against the hotshot Golden Boy. You know him. Everyone does. It's Brandon Calhoun."

"No kidding." Joe whistled. "This will be the campaign of the century. How the hell did you get him to agree to stray from his business?"

"Not important," Nathanial responded briskly. "What is important is that you set up a personal interview with Brandon and arrange a feature story. You have three days to do it. Brandon will be available for a telephone interview, if you can get your skinny bones up here. If you do, I'll arrange for you to meet his wife and his son, Clark, who will be running the dealerships. Incidentally, you may want to feature Clark also. Clark is brilliant, a Harvard graduate, and he already has
over two years of business experience at the dealerships; he is doing a sensational job. I will send you press releases to distribute, but only you will get the chance for a series of one-on-one interviews."

"Nathanial, nobody knows better than you what can be done. I'll drag myself up there. At the time that I set up the interview, I will also arrange for the television cameras from the major stations to be on hand. They have worked with me in the past and will hold off on breaking the story until my exclusive interview runs in the newspaper. Please make sure that you and Brandon know that I may take credit for setting things up, having found out about it through my underground network. I don't want your name mentioned."

"You sneaky bastard. That's why I love you so much. Give Brandon a call in one hour."

***

"Hi, Joe, I was expecting your call. Nathanial just gave me an update and told me you would be calling."

"So Nathanial tells me that you're ready to enter the Senate race. You will make an excellent candidate. Within a short time, our brash candidate down here will see what it's like when the gloss wears off," Joe responded, sarcasm evident in his voice.

"I don't want to sound overconfident, but I think I can duke it out with Mr. Langley, and in the end, flatten him for a count of ten. So, Joe, how do you want to begin?"
"I will set up a joint interview with Walter Spiegel, who, as you know, is a political writer in Phoenix. Walter and I share many insider stories. He and I will conduct the interview of you together with your family. We will also make all the arrangements with the television stations. When we get done, you will be on your way. Coincidentally, our glamour boy is getting married in a few months, which will create another media frenzy. It will be up to you and Nathanial to grab the next series of headlines after my interviews."

"I guess you're saying that I'm starting out behind in the race with lots of catching up to do."

"I wouldn't say otherwise," said Joe. "You have one major advantage. You have Nathanial and maturity on your side. Nathanial will furnish you with a well-oiled machine to support you. Allow a few months, and then we'll see how it shapes up."

"I've been behind before. That doesn't bother me. When I start to close the gap, Mr. Langley will start looking over his shoulder. His inexperience will then begin to show," Brandon boldly declared.

"Nathanial told me that you can take the heat. So with that, I will meet you, along with Walter, with flashbulbs popping and cameras rolling in your office at ten a.m. tomorrow. Be prepared to have your family, especially Clark, on hand so that you can introduce him as the new CEO of Brandon Motors. We will not interview your wife and your younger daughter, but we will put the whole family on television.

"Knowing how Nathanial operates, you will soon be visited by Chester Van Horne, who is a political publicist. He will advise you,
Clark, and your wife and daughter. He will talk to each of you about what to say and when. Actually, I'm jumping the gun. I'm just a news guru, but I'm giving you a heads-up, since I know how well Nathanial sets things up. One other thing before I let you go, and this is confidential, Walter and I will submit to you a list of questions in advance, so that you can organize your answers. Naturally, we will make everything appear spontaneous."

***

Brandon sat down in one of the three cushioned chairs set up in his office. His office furniture had been removed. Walter and Joe sat on either side of him. Brandon, a self-assured man accustomed to being the center of attention, exuded confidence, evidenced by his erect posture, the quiet conviction in his face, and his long history of success. They said nothing as flashbulbs popped. Television reporters, who were seated at small typing tables, were pecking away furiously; TV announcers were speaking into silenced microphones that only staff engineers could hear.

As the room quieted down, Brandon opened with a few prearranged remarks. "I bid all of Arizona a good morning on this typical sunny day, which we enjoy so much and so often in Arizona. I am addressing you today because I feel it is absolutely necessary; the duties of a US senator must not fall into the hands of an inexperienced candidate who has only worked a few years practicing law in his daddy's firm. Frankly, he makes a very handsome appearance, and somehow he has raised a substantial amount of
money. I shall investigate how he managed to do so. I truly believe that he thinks he can steal the office. So, as I mentioned earlier, I come to you today out of necessity. I love this state. I've lived here many years. My home is here. I want what's right for all the people of Arizona." He rose from his chair, bade his wife, Audrey, along with their son, Clark, and their daughter, Priscilla, to stand at his side.

"I've asked my family to appear today to show that they all support my decision to seek public office. They, as do I, respect public duty. To my son, Clark, who has been active in my business for over two years, I hand over the reins of Brandon Motors. To my wife, Audrey, and my daughter, Priscilla, I have asked them to make the necessary sacrifices and to give of their time unselfishly to this cause, and they have agreed." Brandon hugged each one of them, and the family remained on-screen until Brandon continued with his remarks.

Turning once again to the scribes, Brandon spoke in a challenging, combative voice, causing upraised eyes. "I'm not going to wait. I openly challenge Bart Langley to a series of six television debates on six different topics to be mutually agreed upon. I ask that we set up an impartial debate committee to devise all the topics and to choose one or more unbiased, respected community leaders to conduct each debate."

He paused to look at Walter and Joe. "Before we discuss any issues, and there are many, we should first look inside at who we are. I'm fifty-six years old. I took over a family auto dealership, consisting
of one operation, twenty-six years ago. I was thirty years old. We were grossing a little over one million dollars. Today, our revenues exceed two hundred million dollars. My opponent, meanwhile, has no work experience to speak of. On a person-to-person comparison, I am more than twenty-five years older, and during those years, I've learned a great deal from my experiences. I have learned what it is to win and what it is to fail. I am a firm believer that you learn more from your mistakes. That's called experience. The experience that I've gained, and the solutions that I have arrived at, will serve me well and help me honor my obligation as a US senator with one thought in mind—what's good for you, my fellow Arizonans.

"Please understand, I am not going to buy this election. I expect to raise funds to finance my campaign. I may even exceed what Mr. Langley has raised, though it is true I am starting out behind him. To show my faith in what we're seeking to do, I will commit two hundred fifty thousand of my personal funds, which I shall deposit tomorrow into the campaign treasury. I shall then look to my fellow Arizonans and some national supporters to back me up with their hard-earned dollars. I can assure you that many prestigious leaders from the north, south, east, and west in Arizona and throughout the country will lend their name to this campaign. Let me reiterate. The office of US senator is too sacred a position to be pilfered by an upstart seeking to romance his way in to win one of the highest offices of the land."

He turned to his interviewers. "Joe, Walter, let us now begin with your questions." He sat back down.
The room suddenly erupted with activity. Brandon sat tall and relaxed, hands clasped in front of him, waiting for the probing, though it was understood that only softballs would be lobbed in his direction.

The morning following the interview, Nathanial arranged for Brandon and his family to meet with the mayor, the speaker of the state house, the majority leader of the state senate, and a whole host of other political officials. Community leaders from all of the sectors in Arizona were also on hand to greet Brandon. Meredith Landow, Julie's father, was invited, but he politely informed Joe that he had a conflict of interest, since Julie was marrying Brandon's opponent. They both chuckled at that one.

***

Once Brandon announced his candidacy, the national committee immediately coalesced behind him and promised to raise $5 million for his campaign treasury. Editorial writers jumped in, debating and speculating on the strengths and weaknesses of both candidates. They were hot to emphasize that Bart was attacking Nathanial Thorpe as a ruthless party boss and labeling Brandon as his pawn. Brandon, on the other hand, kept hammering away, saying that the Golden Boy should have a leading role in the movies, where politics could be all show and little tell. As Mark Harwood said while strategizing with Bart and David, "Writers will have their say, but being branded as the Golden Boy has created a unique charm in and of itself. It's generating a great deal of positive, free publicity."
Six weeks before the wedding date, as guests were receiving the invitations, no matter how Bart and Julie were feeling at a particular moment, whether nervous, harassed, anxious, happy, or sad, they had completely lost any semblance of control over their time, finding themselves increasingly moving in accordance with the direction of others.

As expected, People magazine planned to send a crew of writers and photographers from New York. Word on the street was that Vanity Fair was waiting until a few weeks after the wedding; they would then follow up with a feature article. The wait allowed the magazine sufficient lead time for an entirely new slant on the life of the magnetic couple recently catapulted onto the national scene.

The momentous then occurred. As Bart remarked to Julie, "Our wedding is going to be a dog and pony show," which was the exact expression that Meet the Press used on its televised show the previous Sunday, when they interviewed Hap Richardson in one of his few remaining public appearances. The media from all parts of the country were reporting news briefs on a daily basis. The young couple, once overcome with joy at all the attention they were receiving, were now withering away; exhaustion had become their new modus operandi.

Julie summarized their pressurized existence when she managed to whisper to Bart at the end of one particularly hectic day, "I'm not sure our honeymoon will be very romantic. I think that I'm just going to sleep and sleep and then sleep some more."
Another pressure-loaded, and soon-to-be-despised, surprise landed like an unannounced intruder, bursting into whatever remaining privacy they had. They soon discovered that their private life was no longer sacred. Neither Bart nor Julie had given any thought to the fact that the paparazzi might turn up. Like a pack of hound dogs that hadn't been fed in weeks, they descended. The more that Bart and Julie gave of themselves, the more the hungry beasts demanded of them; they were totally relentless, never satisfied. To the paparazzi, acting obnoxiously was simply part of their job. It wasn't long before the young couple obtained a new phone number every week, developed their own keywords with special meanings, and hid all schedules. They even began renting hotel rooms, changing sites every few days. Only family, David, Mark Harwood, and a few friends knew how to reach them. Even members of Bart's campaign committee did not know how to reach him. David was the only intermediary.

Although they had lost a great deal of control over their lives, Bart's political stature was on fire, and containment did not appear likely. Bart's agenda was so overloaded that any thoughts he had of maintaining a daily diary became impossible.

More news broke. Cameron Monroe, Hap's chief of staff, announced, with David standing next to him that he would be serving as co-chairman with David. Nathanial, when he heard of the announcement, seethed like red-hot steel. Both Hap and Cameron, who had been his disciples, had turned against him.
Two years ago, Hap and Cameron had tried to reason with Nathanial, advising him that he was becoming too rigid, but Nathanial had been so disposed toward maintaining his power that he heard but didn't absorb. As Cameron explained to David one evening over dinner, "Nathanial is a zealous warrior who beats up on people regardless of their beliefs. President Lyndon Johnson maintains a friendship with Senator Richard Russell though they have different ideologies. They personally like each other and attempt to compromise their positions on a bipartisan basis. We began to see Nathanial and his politics for what it really is—very ugly. Nathanial's rule of thumb was 'It's my way or the highway.' He had no use for others' views. His brand of politics, power for the sake of power, may have feathered his nest, but few good laws are ever passed that way. Of course, since Hap is retiring, he no longer adheres to the doctrine of holding back on what is politically incorrect. At one point, Hap told Nathanial to go to hell. They haven't spoken to each other since."

David sat and listened, transfixed by the "inside-inside" news. "It sure took a lot of guts for both you and Hap to jump ship and offer to help Bart. I must hand it to you."

Cameron sat back in his chair, contemplating. David observed his somewhat haggard look, the product of too many political battles. His sturdy frame depicted a once-fit man, but signs of middle age were showing. His hair was silver gray, an attractive hue when contrasted with the usual tone of gray hair among most as they aged. His heavy eyes, beset by dark puffy circles, betrayed another sign of
countless battles, sleepless nights, and probably heavy drinking, so common in the nation's capital.

Leaning forward, Cameron said, "One of the first things we must do is respond to Brandon Calhoun's challenge to begin debates. I suggest that we hand out a press release conveying the message that we think it is too early in the campaign to start any debates. At the same time, we can declare that next year, when we edge closer to election time, we will eagerly agree to debate the nation's problems and offer solutions. Six debates may be too many, but we can discuss that next year. We'll conclude with the usual rhetoric, saying that Bart looks forward to the opportunity to debate the issues with Mr. Calhoun."

"That's fine," David said. "Previously I have talked about this to Bart, and we have drawn the same conclusion. So, my friend, do you want to begin outlining our strategies and our organizational structure?"

"Sure. What do you have in mind?"

"Cameron, I recognize that you have much greater experience than I have. Your many contacts in Washington and Arizona are invaluable. Above all, your considerable experience as Hap's campaign manager and chief of staff for ten years will serve the campaign well. Frankly, as often as possible, I will go along with your decisions."

"So you want me to be the bad guy," Cameron said, a smile deepening the crevices in his face. "Let me say just one thing. I'm fifty
years old, but I feel older. There will be times when I'm going to want to take some free time. During those times, if we haven't worked out all our plans, you will have to step up to the plate."

"I understand, Cameron. I'll even be the bad guy, if that will work better."

Cameron's eyes, which usually spoke of toil, conveyed merriment. "David, I think you and I are going to get along just fine, but with my many skirmishes in the past, I think I better fit the bad-guy rap."

***

Bart was informed that People planned a photo shoot of him and Julie and then of Julie and her bridesmaids. They then planned a joint interview with Bart and David. Cameron was asked to join them, but he bowed out. He said that he didn't want to generate too much publicity, because he was identified with big-city politics.

Bart and David managed to talk daily, and once a week they planned strategy. Cameron would usually join them in a conference call. Bart and David often held garage meetings, sometimes switching cars when necessary to avoid the paparazzi.

They were astonished at the flood of donations they continued to receive. Word from national headquarters indicated that close to one-third of the contributors had never made a political contribution before. Typically they were receiving $10,000 on a daily basis, which added up to about $300,000 a month. Bart had become the
representative of the little guy seeking to overcome Nathanial's big-shot.

David asked Cameron, "What about the first million dollars that came in? Don't you think that we should report that Barney was the ultimate backer of the ten sponsors? Otherwise, I'm concerned that the press or Nathanial will ultimately figure it out and then paint a very ugly picture."

"Good point, David. I think the best approach is for you to make an announcement, or have one of our leaders do it. The big question that will follow is, why didn't you break the news earlier or right at the beginning?"

"I would be glad to make the announcement, but how do we answer the question that will follow?"

"First of all, I think we should include the answer in the announcement. It's the only way to prevent a torrent of negative questioning. I think we must be very candid. I would bring out the fact that if we broke the news right away, it would interfere with Bart's opening messages. Then I would use diversion and change the subject and begin to attack Nathanial Thorpe as the one who has dominated state politics for years to satisfy his power, which hasn't been in the public's best interest.

"Will do. I like it," said David.

"There is one other follow-up question to anticipate. Why hasn't Bart announced Barney's role instead of you?"
"I see where you're going with that one," David remarked, thinking to himself, I can see now why Hap Richardson was sopopular during his entire tenure. Cameron is a visionary and really understands how the game is played. "I will point out that becauseBart is marrying Julie this coming Sunday, he decided to make the announcement one month after his wedding date. Then, the wedding date was moved back, and as a result, it was decided that I had better make the announcement."

"Well said," Cameron responded enthusiastically. "There will still be some flak, and some editorial writers will think that you and Bart purposely stalled, but I think it will level out. We do need additional ammunition against Nathanial. I suggest you talk to your group of leaders, especially those who have dealt with him in the past, and find out if any of the past power grabs that he has been hiding can now be exposed."

"I'll get right on it. I'll bet we will uncover some very interesting facts about Nathanial and his methods of operation. I may, if it's not too embarrassing for them, ask one or two of our leaders to make the disclosures."

And so the race was on, one that would be billed as one of the most publicized campaigns in the history of senatorial confrontational races.
THE VENGEFUL UNHINGED

PULSATING CURRENTS

To absolutely no one's surprise, the Langley wedding—before, during, and afterward—became the social event of the year. Only the solemn moments in church were neither written about nor photographed. As gray-haired social buffs recalled, the marriage of Elizabeth Taylor and Nicky Hilton in May 1950, and the 1939 splash that Clark Gable and Vivien Leigh created at the opening of Hollywood's sensational movie Gone with the Wind were now matched by the awesome display of publicity generated by the Golden Boy's marriage to the very beautiful, often described as queenly, Julie Landow.

To add to the glamour afforded Bart Langley's candidacy, Hollywood, represented by those political activists who became aroused when they listened to Bart's message, that he was opposed to the negative voting block in Phoenix that dominated Arizona's politics and for the most part benefitted a few legislators and their cronies to the detriment of the general population. That message raised the interest of Barbara Streisand, Robert Redford, Paul Newman, Warren Beatty, Harry Belefonte, and Frank Sinatra. They publicly declared that they would commit to raise an additional million dollars and would organize a dinner featuring Bart as the principle speaker at a lavish affair to be held at the Beverly Hilton Hotel.

Such publicity caused the couple to plan well. The whereabouts of their honeymoon, including the times of their departure and return,
the location of each hotel, and even the name of the travel agency, were a dark secret. Only their folks, David, Mista, and Cameron knew the guarded information.

With the help of Bart's dad, they withheld their names from the airplane and hotel registries; they went so far as to hire professional makeup artists to disguise their appearances. They were determined to avoid the paparazzi and their exploitative actions. They did not want to see their names or their pictures in any tabloids; they were especially concerned about semi-clad embarrassing moments being captured on high-powered lenses.

Yet fame, as it is commonly said, can be fleeting. Some six months after the wedding, as the publicity gradually diminished from its feverish pitch, the Senate race began to tighten, as the pundits had expected. Cameron made a special trip to Tucson to meet with Bart and David. They sensed that they had better start putting additional funds in their campaign treasury to work, and as was typically needed in all elections, maintain a concerted effort to keep raising funds.

The three men met with Mark Harwood in the conference room in David's office to map out a strategy. They decided to work in six-month segments. They scheduled a combination of speeches, public appearances, mailings, television commercials, and newspaper ads and budgeted all expenses. They appreciated Mark's original imagery, when the campaign had first kicked off, showing Bart in a commanding position, standing tall, chin raised, with the visionary
look of a leader. That posture, that subtle appearance of future mindedness, would be maintained.

They would begin adding a second panel to the ad, featuring pictures with Washington's leaders in the nation's capital, speeches before eager crowds at the state's domed capitol building, and an exchange of handshakes between Hap and Bart. During the second six-month segment, they would add softer moments, showing Bart handing out meals to the impoverished, comforting injured veterans (who would be labeled as Bart's heroes), and leaning forward to help a kindergarten student. Additionally, they would raise funds for a clubhouse for the Boys and Girls Club, and they agreed to sponsor a fundraising drive for the homeless, all with appropriate fanfare.

As the campaign progressed, Bart became increasingly superstitious, perhaps because his karma to date had been so fortuitous. He was now more determined than ever to keep those mystical forces serving as his guide path. As Bart put it one afternoon, "You can't see it. You can't touch it. But you sure as hell can feel it. If this is my imagination playing games with me, then so be it, but I'm not going to take any chances." He continued to avoid walking under ladders; he took extra steps to prevent a black cat from crossing in his path; he would not walk on a line in a sidewalk; and he never forgot to carry the rabbit's foot that he had bought from a small boy on the Mexican side of Nogales during his last race.

It had been a year since the race began. Hap Richardson had previously announced that once he retired, he would serve as the
honorary chairman of Bart's campaign, and he, Cameron, Mark, and David, were operating as a close-knit team.

Yet due to the larger population in northern Arizona, Brandon's personal popularity, and the behind-the-scenes workings of Nathanial's loyalists, who profited from his largesse in the past, Bart's opponent narrowed the gap considerably. The polls now had the race as neck and neck. Brandon further benefitted as Samantha Thorpe and Audrey Calhoun mobilized women's groups successfully to do a great deal of the administrative work, posting mailers, making calls, organizing events, and a whole host of other activities. Though Samantha and Audrey were not expected to raise money, they were developing voter allegiances at speaking engagements focused on addressing women, and asserting their women's rights that had long been neglected.

The only issue that Samantha and Audrey purposely avoided pertained to abortions and related issues. They were quite aware that conservatives in their party were divided on the subject. Some, because of their religious beliefs, were so rigid as to be belligerent. Samantha and Audrey handled it as delicately as they could. They acknowledged that they would not be raising the issue in the campaign, but they were forthright enough to present Brandon's position. They said that he felt that it was a personal decision for each woman to make. To placate those who he knew would be fiercely opposed to his position, if asked, he had agreed that when elected, he would take a neutral position. Samantha and Audrey, knowing that some would not accept even neutrality, made it a point during
speaking engagements to pose the question, "What is the alternative? We know how Bart Langley will vote. We know that he will take a strong position in favor of women's choice to, as believed by many, take a life." They argued that Brandon's neutral position was tantamount to a no vote.

Despite Samantha's overt loyalty to her husband and to the campaign, she was a divided woman. For years she had appeared in public, followed Nathanial's authoritative directives, and where appropriate used her voluptuousness to win over male adherents to his positions. She had admitted to herself that his power was what first attracted her. Coupled with his wealth, it had initially overwhelmed her. Yet soon after the marriage, boredom set in, and over time it grew to frustration. She was living a lie no one knew about. Adept at hiding their private life from the public, she had become a valuable asset to Nathanial. People marveled at their teamwork.

Behind closed doors, she then had to face her squat, unattractive husband each day. She thanked the Lord that he did not have a strong sex drive. For those few occasions when he would suddenly roll upon her, without foreplay, she was smart enough to have a lubricant on hand to allow him to enter her dry orifice; she obediently allowed him to do his thing. It took only a few grunts; then he would quickly exit, and without a word, close his eyes and effortlessly fall asleep. Occasionally, while half-asleep, he heard the slight rustle of the sheets and her heavier breathing as she satisfied herself, but he paid little attention. As the years rolled on, she
became less concerned with what he knew and began to use a vibrator; the soft murmur of its motor was equally of no consequence to him.

She knew that the marriage had to end. Yet she still took no action. Every time she thought about it, the magnetic effect of her social position neutralized her decisiveness. Both her female counterparts and Nathanial's male friends fawned upon her, though the men knew to maintain a safe distance. Being Mrs. Nathanial Thorpe meant that she and Nathanial were seated only at head tables, and they were often made honorary co-chairmen of charitable events, fundraisers, and other public events. She was riding the crest of popularity.

She decided to play it safe. She continued to endure her personal life, but she began a devilish game. Unknown to Nathanial, she sold the jewelry that he gave her, except for some very large pieces that he expected her to wear in public. That was only the beginning. Since he paid little attention to the management of their personal accounts, she had an open invitation to siphon off funds and hoard them. In the last few years, she had started taking huge sums out of his accounts. She also developed excess cash as she began to pay their bills slowly, building up larger cash balances to whisk away. She knew he didn't look at his bank statements or pay attention to his finances. She now had over $1 million stashed away in a safety deposit box.
Her cleverest maneuver occurred one evening when they were at home together. She waited until he was watching his favorite television show. She sat down next to him, put her arm around him, and leaned her head next to his, cheek to cheek, as she slowly began to rub his thigh. He was not accustomed to such a show of affection, but he liked it; he liked it a lot, but his eyes remained steadfast on the screen. Then, during the commercial break, she began her little act.

In a soft, demure, loving tone, she said, "Honey darling, I was embarrassed today while talking to some of the ladies. They confided in me that they owned half of all that their husbands owned. They told me this was a community property state, share and share alike. I remember when we first married, you told me your money was all separate property acquired before our marriage. Now that I'm older, I'm starting to think of security. What would happen if something happened to you? Even if your will provides for me, wills can be changed, and that makes me feel insecure. After all, I hate to say this, honey, but you are almost twenty years older than I am. Is there anything that we can do to make our arrangement fairer?"

Anxious to get back to his show, he said quickly, "You know I have always trusted you. Now let me get back to my show. I'll tell you what, call Marcus Penner to draw up the legal docs giving you a half share."

He shocked her. He had consented so easily. She called Marcus and told him what Nathanial wanted. Without any questions, knowing that Nathanial was very decisive, Marcus drew up the proper
conveyance documents. She said, "When you're finished, Marcus, call me. I don't want to bother Nathanial. I'll take them to him."

"The problem, Samantha, is that the documents have to be notarized. We have a notary in the office that can attend to that."

"Oh, darn. Marcus, is there any chance that you and your notary could come to Nathanial's office? I know he just hates to be troubled with details."

"It's more costly that way, but sure, that can be done." "Fine. I'll call you back and make a date."

Samantha's next move was to wait until Nathanial was watching the same television show. She placed dessert before him on a portable table during the commercial. "Honey, I did as you told me. I went to see Marcus. He said that we could arrange to meet at your office to save you some time and sign the papers. He'll bring his notary along."

"That's fine, dear. Refresh my memory. What am I signing?"

"You know, providing that we share equally. Will you be in the office the day after tomorrow?"

His program came back on. With hardly a thought, he said, "Oh yeah, now it comes back to me. I'll be in all day. Just make an appointment with Norma."

"Thanks, sweetheart."
Two days later, Samantha got what she was after. She owned half of everything Nathanial owned that was not part of his trust.

Virtually overnight, Samantha became a wealthy, financially secure person. Despite the fact that she loathed Nathanial, she had hung on. Now she was comfortably positioned, but she continued to wait for the right moment to leave. She was working up the nerve; she found it more difficult than she had imagined to give up her social position. She really needed a push. She waited some more. One day, after she and Audrey had finished speaking to a ladies' group, they adjourned for some coffee. As they often did, they confided in each other. Samantha mentioned, "I'm thinking of getting a new car. Nathanial allows me to trade my old one in every two years."

Brandon's wife, Audrey, was a few years younger than he was. She was very loyal to him and had been able to maintain a youthful appearance during their marriage. She dressed impeccably; her slim figure was the result of portion control and regular attendance at aerobic classes. Except for a few laugh lines that barely showed, she had the same youthful look and bearing as in their early years of marriage. She did keep up with her peers, regularly making visits to the beauty salon. Since a few gray streaks had appeared in her hair, she followed in the footsteps of her contemporaries and dyed her hair. She chose to be a blonde, but unlike her friends, she had her hair styled off her shoulders rather than in an upsweep. Brandon told her more than once, "Audrey, you're the same attractive woman who drove me crazy twenty years ago."
When Audrey heard that Samantha was going to trade in her car, she had enough business sense to show a great deal of interest.

"What have you been driving in the past?" Audrey asked.

"Well, I'm driving a Lincoln Town Car now, and before that I had a Jaguar."

"Sounds like you're ready for a Mercedes. I guess you know that Brandon has the largest dealership in Arizona."

"Isn't that strange? I had never thought of getting a Mercedes, but why not? I know it's one of the finest cars made."

"Tell you what," said Audrey. "Call Gary Dennison. He's our top salesman. Clark just told me that Gary sold ten custom-made Mercedes to one purchaser, a lawyer in Las Vegas. They were all black, four-door, armor-plated sedans. Some were delivered to Chicago, and some were delivered to New York."

"Isn't that interesting?"

"It is really hard to believe. The lawyer paid all cash. Clark said all ten of the cars each sold for over a half-million dollars. Please keep this very confidential."

"Don't worry. I have no one to tell. Come to think of it, I would love to have a Mercedes."

"You will enjoy meeting Gary. He's very friendly, and...he's gorgeous. Be on your guard, m'lady. Many of his female customers get tongue-tied in his presence."
When Samantha took one look at Gary Dennison, she became another of his enchanted disciples. Gary could easily have been a male model. He was younger than she was and had the posture and frame of an athlete. His blond, thick, wavy hair, tossed as if by hand, fell gently atop chiseled features. His probing green eyes, which signaled that you were being sized up, and big, broad smile could smite any female. When he approached Samantha, while she was peering at a silver two-door Mercedes, her heart began a rhythmic upbeat.

"Hi, I'm Gary. Everything that Audrey told me about you is true. It's always a pleasure to be of service to a friend of the Calhouns, especially one that is so lovely."

For the first time since she had married Nathanial, her raw emotions emerged. She felt sensations never before experienced. She held on to her hands to avoid the obvious; she was shaking. The conversation that followed was a blur, at best a hazy memory that affected her balanced composure. She couldn't recall how it happened, but as if she had delegated her sense of self-direction, she found herself proceeding under the guidance of a greater power, signing a purchase contract for a fully equipped vehicle. As was customary among good salesmen, Gary agreed to deliver the totally serviced vehicle to her home the next day.

Gary, too, was visibly moved, he sensed that Samantha was very special. He had sold many vehicles to wealthy people. Many of the wives were Samantha's age, but none provoked him as she did.
He recognized, almost immediately, that she was not happily married. Gary spent a good part of the following morning researching the background of Nathanial Thorpe. He blanched when he discovered the tremendous amount of power that Nathanial wielded. It was hard for him to understand. The innocuous pictures of Nathanial in no way indicated his political power. He was intrigued. More than ever, he looked forward to delivering the car. He could see matchless opportunities opening up to him, but above all, he wanted to see Samantha again. She was the first woman to set him on fire; he saw her as a woman and not as a sex object.

As soon as he walked into her house, they both felt it; they became totally immersed. Emotion met emotion; their feelings intertwined. They didn't talk about the car. In fact, they didn't talk about anything. She invited him upstairs; she did not know where she mustered up the courage to take him by the hand and lead him up the circular stairway. Open double doors led into a spacious master bedroom.

Clothing fell to the floor in graceful moves; she wore nothing beneath her dress. Breathlessly they fell upon the bed. She knew immediately; the drought was over. It was as if her too-quickly passing youth was being recaptured. Adding to her heightened inner frenzy, she discovered that she was capable of multiple orgasms. The spasms that ran through her were like undulating waves that ravished every nerve ending.
From that glorious afternoon grew mutual impatience. Gary found that work was growing more difficult because every minute at work was a minute away from Samantha. For Samantha, life with Nathanial became unbearable; she reacted wretchedly to his every touch, to his every word. The fact that she and Gary bedded down only once a day, during the safety of daytime, soon presented a different kind of difficulty. She, too, regretted every moment they were not together. After a drought of fifteen years, she was indeed impatient, trying to catch up for all those missed days. She asked nothing of him in return, except for him, his presence, his love. He was her every moment.

Gary now knew that he was genuinely enthralled with her. During one of their explosive encounters, she revealed to him how unhappy she was in her marriage. She told him everything, but she did not reveal her hidden wealth, or the fact that Nathanial had conveyed half of his estate to her.

Gary had long ago decided if he ever remarried, it would be to a younger woman. That was what most men did. His first wife was his age, but they both married too young; they quickly grew apart. He had now been single for about eight years, and he had never proposed again. For him it had been one conquest after another, until now. He hinted at marriage, which was all that Samantha needed to aggressively respond.

She did not hesitate. "I so adore you. I so believe and trust you. Yes, yes, and yes again, I will marry you."
Gary looked longingly into her eyes, totally focused. "I've never said this to another woman. I shall love you forever."

Flames that had run amok continued to engulf them. "Let's get married as soon as my divorce is final. To make things easier, I don't think an engagement ring is necessary. I have too much jewelry already."

Though their relationship remained secret, she had now gained the boldness she needed to confront Nathanial. First, however, she had to tell Brandon and Audrey. Toward them she felt guilty, but she could not overcome the ethereal force guiding her actions.

She called Audrey, having decided it would be less painful if she told her over the phone. "Audrey, you have been a dear friend, and I feel awful. I don't know what to say. I hope that it will not jeopardize Brandon's campaign. Frankly, I cannot help myself. When you told me to watch out when I met Gary, I didn't do it. Instead, we plunged headlong and fell madly in love with each other. We've kept it a secret so far, but recently we became engaged, and I felt that I had to tell you. I feel both awful and wonderful."

Audrey hesitated, moments passed. The silence became awkward. Finally, she spoke, having gathered her thoughts. She began with a canned remark. "Well, I'm very happy for you." She followed with what was really on her mind. "Can I ask you a question? Don't be offended, but are you sure that Gary is not marrying you for your money?"
"I thought about that and asked him the same question. We discussed it frankly, at great length. He has agreed to pay one-half of all the household expenses, except for the cost of the house. To be perfectly honest, I thought that made sense, or certainly sense enough to go ahead. I trust him, but I know there is some risk."

"Samantha, you know I wish you only the best. We have become good friends, but I can't help but tell you that I am disappointed. I'm worried that it will affect Brandon in a few ways. Have you told Nathanial yet? What about our committee? Probably it will be necessary that we no longer work together, I'm sorry to say."

"Audrey, I understand perfectly. I still haven't told Nathanial. When I do, I will tell him that I am going to withdraw from the campaign. Knowing him as well as I do, I don't think he will speak to me after that. I'm going to tell him tonight."

Samantha was surprisingly relaxed. The fakery was coming to an end. She was no longer waiting; she was now deciding. She told the cook to serve all the dinner courses at one time and to take the evening off after that. Nathanial arrived home shortly before dinner was served. Samantha was sitting at the dinner table when he walked in. She noticed immediately that he was grumpier than usual. He didn't say hello. He sat down, and before she could tell him that she wanted a divorce, he blurted out, "I discovered an abundance of withdrawals by you from our bank accounts. What's this all about?"

She was not prepared for his aggressive approach, nor did she have any acceptable answer to his question. She now knew that she
was in for a rough ride. She decided to meet his onslaught with one of her own. "I have something to tell you. You will not like it."

"Not like it, huh? I'm madder than hell already," he barked back.

The gut fighter was ready to do battle.

She knew now that it would be difficult for him to listen. She held her breath, and said, with eyes closed, unable to look at him, "I want a divorce. Our marriage is over."

"What?" He was startled. Gone was the expected "I'm sorry," the big smile, and the hugs that she gave him when she did something wrong. All at once, she had come on like a "shot gun" blast. For once, he felt her wrath. "What do you mean? You want a divorce?" He was still in attack mode, but he no longer sounded convincing. "That's out of the question. I say when you can make decisions." Yet as he tried to commandeer her, he knew he would not get very far.

Having been advised to say little, to make her statement and move on. "I'm not going to argue with you," she intoned with words of steel. "I want a divorce. I'm getting out. I've already contacted a lawyer. You will be served tomorrow. I have nothing more to say." She arose, eyed him with contempt, relieved that the suppression that she had lived under for so many years had now dissipated like a wisp of smoke.

Nathanial sat back powerlessly, absolutely dumbfounded. He had lost control; her words began to sink in. As she left the room, he called after her. "Wait. Now see here. Can't we talk this over?"
Turning, she looked directly at his bulging eyes, no longer avoiding his gaze as she had done for so many years. With her newfound courage, she said sternly, "Didn't you hear me the first time? I'm going to file for divorce." She walked out of the room.

Nathanial sat frozen in place, dazed, still unable to fully absorb what had just happened. Thoughts of what a divorce would do to Brandon's campaign flashed before him like a grotesque nightmare. His position in the community, his relationships among party leaders, all that he had worked for so hard in his life were now weakened. Once so formidable, so sure of himself, he was suddenly a wimp, another husband the victim of a shattered relationship. He felt as if his insides had been torn apart. He slumped over the table. For the first time in his adult life, he began to sob. Never before had his naked feelings bared open like a fatal wound. Oh my God, what ishappening to me? I'm sinking into the kingdom of hell.

Nathanial withheld the news of the breakup from Brandon, unaware that Audrey had already told him. He didn't want to talk to anyone. The financial gaps in his bank accounts troubled him, but the loss of his wife was uppermost in his mind. Almost immediately, he began to receive margin calls. Bankers began calling him about late mortgage payments; soon after, jewelers informed him that payments had been delinquent for six months. He quickly examined his bank accounts, to verify what he had suspected; that small balances remained.
As difficult as it was for him to believe, Samantha had sabotaged him. He had never before been in a depleted financial position. He called Marcus Penner the next day and ranted to his secretary. "I don't care if he's in conference. Get him on the line now."

Marcus came to the phone. "Nathanial, I can't talk now."

"You don't have to talk, just listen. Samantha has walked out on me. She drained all the cash in my accounts. I'm behind on my bills. I need your help at once."

"Come to my office in one hour." Marcus hung up the phone.

Nathanial repeated the turn of events to Marcus. He sat with his shoulders sloped; his eyes were reddened; his usual impeccable appearance was in disarray. Marcus said gravely, "Nathanial, I'm very sorry this has happened to you. You're not the first successful man I have represented who was suddenly informed that his rock-solid relationship had come apart. Unfortunately, I can't work miracles for you. It will take time to recover some or all of the money. We can do nothing about the half of your estate that you have already conveyed to her. Please keep in mind that your wife is also liable for the debts that are beginning to pile up. I have a lawyer in the office who handles debtor problems. I'll get him on it right away and put Samantha on notice that she's also responsible to third party creditors. Meanwhile, as tasteless as it will be, you may have to take a short-term loan until we can examine her deception and decide what to do."
"Me, borrow? Not a chance. I tell bankers what to do; they don't tell me," Nathanial said belligerently.

"I'm sorry, but you have no choice. The terms of your trust do not allow you to borrow from it."

"I'll think of something. I'll give you the name of her attorney when I am served." Without another word, Nathanial walked out, unhappier than he had been before. He did some quick thinking. All Ineed are temporary funds until my trust account starts filling in. I'll sit down with my accountant and figure out what I need and for how long. I know where I can get the funds.

A few days went by. By chance, Brandon received a call from a local jeweler, "Excuse me, Mr. Calhoun, but I think there has been a mistake. We received a check drawn on your campaign to pay an invoice due Nathanial Thorpe and his wife." It didn't take Brandon very long, since he knew of the Thorpe breakup, to figure things out. Quickly, Brandon called a meeting with Nathanial and confronted him.

Nathanial's usual gruff exterior broke down. "Brandon, I'm sorry. I had no choice. I was being pressed by my creditors. Samantha secretly withdrew all my cash and is seeking a divorce. Personally, it's a disaster."

As if he were on the receiving end of a ton of bricks thrown from a ten story building, Brandon quickly lost his composure. "Nathanial, do you realize what you've done?" he screamed. "Do you realize that you may bring down the whole campaign? Now you've put me behind the eight ball. I could be charged as an accessory in a criminal action.
I'm sorry that your life is in turmoil, but I have no choice. I will discuss this with legal counsel right away. I don't think you'll like what I will be advised to do." The meeting ended. Neither party said good-bye to the other.

A few days later, Howard Greenwald, Brandon's lawyer, called Nathanial. "Mr. Thorpe, it is important that I meet with you and your lawyer immediately. Brandon will also attend the meeting."

Nathanial, now continually fatigued, despair weighing him down, called Marcus to arrange an appointment. They arranged a meeting at Greenwald's office the next day. As the four parties convened, Greenwald wasted no time putting Nathanial on the defensive. "I have advised Brandon to immediately sue Nathanial. This is necessary to make sure that Brandon is not implicated in Mr. Thorpe's mishandling of campaign funds. We regret this action, but we feel that there is no alternative."

Nathanial and Marcus received the news with little comment.

They would have much to say, however, when they were alone.

Once alone, Marcus advised Nathanial that if Brandon filed the action, the campaign would be in shambles. Nathanial's career as the state's chief politician would end just as quickly. Brandon may even decide to terminate his campaign. Penner waited a moment. The once proud Nathanial Thorpe was now a hapless indecisive soul. He spoke the inevitable.

"Nathanial, you must make up the deficits at once or face the consequences."
Two days passed without any action by Nathanial. Brandon instructed Greenwald to file the lawsuit. Always a decisive person, he quickly came to another decision. He followed up with a call to Bart and explained what had happened. With a choked voice, fighting back his natural competitive nature to attack rather than withdraw, he managed to say, "Bart, this is a very sad day for me. I'm not a quitter by nature. I think I was on the verge of giving you a real run for your money. Unfortunately, I am resigning immediately from the campaign."

Before the call ended, Bart's feet virtually left the ground. Brandon's decision was beyond chance, beyond believability. Yet it had just happened. Pictures formed quickly among a completely new set of visualizations. His hand was raised on high on the Senate floor, asking a fellow senator, "Will the senator from Illinois please yield?" Once a possibility beyond his wildest contemplation, it now appeared to be a virtual certainty. He was confident that he would now be elevated to the loftiest club in the country.

Although a new opponent would enter the race, the Golden Boy's gloss was as bright as the sun at high noon!
THE VENGEFUL UNHINGED

MURMURS ALONG DIFFERENT PATHWAYS

They were sitting in the breakfast nook, enjoying a second cup of coffee. Mason, who formerly never flattered or complimented anyone, had now undergone a complete metamorphosis. His love for Ronnie had unearthed his buried feelings. He was so at ease in their relationship, so much at peace with himself, the tension that had accompanied him throughout most of his life had dissipated. "Ronnie, I know I've said it before, but I can't stop saying it. I'm so happy with you; I'm so much in love with you that I just want to say it to you every day. It's magical living with you."

"You're right, baby. I waited a long time for you to come along. I couldn't ask for more. Every day is a holiday, especially when I can stay home with you and we can feast on each other."

Heat set in, as if she had just switched on his loin register; quickly he began to feel flushed. Ronnie had that effect on him; one word, one little spark of interest from her, and his passions became inflamed. The fact that they had experienced exceedingly good fortune in their businesses added to his arousal.

Moon Glow was doing so well that they had begun the process of designing a second club. Again the club would not be on a main thoroughfare. To add to the sizzle, they were planning strobe lights and male dancers who would wear mini outfits that accentuated their sensuality. Not to be outdone, the Desert Club's revenues also were beginning to soar like a flock of birds migrating to a new habitat; he
and Pappy were very surprised. The club's growth would substantially exceed their first-year projections.

Their customer base had stretched beyond Japan's borders. They were attracting wealthy internationalists from Singapore, Hong Kong, and other Asian locales. Inquiries were coming in from the Philippines, Malaysia, and Thailand. They hired a former private detective with a thorough background of international finance to check background credentials. Daily arrival times for guests who were clean, free of surveillance by the authorities, were scheduled. The word was out, and Mason and Pappy soon expected that the Europeans would be calling. In fact, to Mason's surprise, he had received a call from a lawyer in Columbia, who he believed represented a drug overlord. As he understood the subtleties of the conversation, the lawyer was inquiring about parking as much as $100 million in the Desert Club lockboxes.

"Honey, may I change the subject? I have a confession to make," Ronnie murmured softly. "You know our best celebrations are when we go body to body. You satisfy me so exquisitely that I'm growing jealous of your busy schedules. Lately, I don't see enough of you. Your success, our success, especially with the Desert Club, is demanding so much of your time that honey"—her voice took on the form of a plea—"all I can think of is staying in bed all day with you, munching on sushi, and then munching on you." Ronnie's facial expression now smacked of hunger; she lapsed into a dreamlike state, tipping among the clouds.
"Sweetheart, I wish that I could spend more time with you. I feel awful, but I'm torn. Pappy and Gino expect so much of me."

"I understand perfectly well, but my body doesn't understand. I hope you will accept a confessional?"

"Sure. Go ahead."

"I've been experiencing some very strange sensations lately. I wake up in the middle of the night, when you're not at my side, in a cold sweat. My vibrator hardly begins before I erupt. Our separations are starting to drive me a little crazy."

"My God," Mason said, pleased in one sense but concerned in another. Ronnie's beautiful face showed the first signs of tears. It was apparent that delicate nerves had been touched. "I don't know what to do," he said. "I'm trapped. You and I are on our way to make a million dollars personally in just our first year. I'm forced to stay on the job."

She arose and slowly approached him while he remained seated. Gently she arched her groin and her hips swayed as she began to massage his shoulder in a slow rotation. With a slight note of trepidation, she said, "There is something you can do. Though we have never talked about it, we both know that I'm oversexed. Maybe I'm sick, but I love it so much, I don't want to give up even a tiny portion of it, or learn to control it, or do anything else to change it." She leaned forward, putting her hand on his lap. Smoothly her fingers massaged back and forth; hardly a moment passed before Mason was erect. He closed his eyes. "Do me quickly," he groaned.
"Sweetheart, I have something special to ask you, and then I shall drain you dry."

He barely opened one eye, finding it difficult. "What is it?" he asked weakly.

"I'm afraid to ask you. It means so much to me, but I don't want to hurt you."

He now quickly opened both eyes. "I don't get it. What?" His eyes were now searching, trying to read her expression.

"I need a sex partner, actually two. One would be male and one would be female. They would strictly be for sport fucking."

Mason lost his erection. He looked up at her; she was standing so tall, yet so fragile.

"I don't mean it the way it sounds. Believe me, you satisfy me. The problem is, I can't get enough of you. I'm getting horny so often. I hunger so often that I use the rounded corners of banister rails or the stand-alone sink in the guest bathroom for relief. What can I do?"

Mason tried to regain his composure. "How do you want to go about it?"

Timidly, she whispered, "I was thinking of approaching James, who you know. He's Gino's assistant. Then there's Roxy, who is one of the cashiers at Moon Glow. She's a known bisexual."

"How long would this go on?"
"That's a good question. It can't go on forever. I won't allow that. I promise that after one year, I will go in for therapy. I've heard that there are some experts in the field who specialize in sexual addiction. I will go see one or maybe two."

Hardhearted Mason, who used to have no feelings, had now become dependent on her softness, her affection. With an outpouring that caused him to tremble, "I know that I run the risk of wrecking our marriage, but I also know that it's the only way I can save it. You have a need. I'm terribly busy. I can't be home often enough for you. I know that I must not lose you."

Slowly she reached underneath his legs and arms and lifted him, cradling him to her chest. She hungrily began to pepper him with soft kisses and then began to lap his lips from side to side. He had slung his head and neck backward; his eyes were closed. "Mommy," he said in baby tones, "please take care of me."

"I will, darling. Mommy will be very good to you."

***

David and Mista were so attuned to each other's feelings that pillow talk, soft and sweet, or sometimes a bit harsh and critical, served to strengthen their bond. They yearned to improve themselves and help each other. Their torrid lovemaking before they lay back on their pillows to talk made it that much easier.

From these informal verbalizations, they gained the ability to talk about anything to each other. At times, their feelings were hurt,
but they considered that a worthwhile price to pay to further strengthen their marriage. As their thoughts deepened, their affection for each other similarly deepened.

Tonight, unlike most nights, David veered from the subject of politics. "I have a compliment for you. I'm impressed with the way my friends and their wives have taken to you. I get the impression that they welcome you with open arms. Your beauty is not as threatening as I thought it might be. You are so natural and friendly that everyone around you relaxes. I sometimes shake my head and wonder how you do it. You have taken on a whole new group of friends, mostly from well-to-do families, and broken down the barriers."

"Thanks, sweetheart, thoughtful of you to say. I think that one of the things that helps is that I've embraced the religion so fully. Being Jewish has personally given me a foundation, something that I believe in, and that's a comfort with our friends. I do miss my deep talks with Aunt Jean, but I'm so busy now with all the social activity that it's difficult to find the time to see her. I'm even getting used to talking about people, places, and things, and other idle conversation. I just nod my head in appreciation; it usually works."

"Honey, have a little patience with me, and I'll try to get you some fine pieces of jewelry."

"To be perfectly honest with you, I'd rather that we focus on some quality art. I'm sure there are some local artists that are not too expensive."
"You are really too much. Most women get caught up trying to impress other women."

"Most women do not have you as a husband. I have you to show off."

"Me? I'm just a struggling lawyer."

"David, don't start getting modest. You're on your way to becoming a recognized public figure like Bart. Of course, you won't match him if he gets elected, but in Tucson you're already a community leader." She eyed him lovingly, admiration on display. "Getting back to the girls, there is one thing that does make me uncomfortable. Almost all of them are college graduates. Every so often I have to tell a girlfriend about my lack of schooling, and that's where I feel ill at ease."

"Once the babies come and you quit your job, you're welcome to go back and finish your schooling. You don't have to do it for me. It's strictly your decision."

"I can only say maybe. Raising children responsibly and going back to school may be too much. Talking about babies, I have a request. Let's not put pressure on ourselves and try too hard for me to get pregnant. If it happens, it happens. You're healthy and so am I, so let's not resort to calendars, stimulants, and certainly not any surrogates."

"I'm with you. I really dislike all that forced anticipation. May I now change the subject? I have some newsy news for you. Who
would you think is going to come to Tucson and do a picture story of Bart and Julie's marriage?"

"Oh my God, another major publication," she exclaimed excitedly. "Who?"

"Things are happening so fast that I'm losing control," said David. "It's one surprise after another. I've latched onto a racehorse that is gaining momentum all the time. If you're impressed that People is coming in for the wedding, I've received still another call. AsI was putting on my jacket to leave the office, Time magazine called. They literally bowled me over. They want to set up a joint interview with Bart and me when the honeymooners return."

"I'm stunned. You may become a national figure after all. Honey, I need more warmth, a lot more tonight," she said as she nestled so that their bodies were touching. She began to stroke his neck and shoulders, moving her fingers in a tapping motion as she continued to push them lower.

Between breaths, which were getting longer and deeper, he managed to say, "Care to do some dreaming tonight? Picture us, my love, attending a swearing-in ceremony in Washington, DC."

"I would love it," Mista mumbled between bites of his earlobe. "Could life be any better?"

***

"Lyle," Victor bellowed from across the hall, "come on in as fast as you can. I have something to talk to you about."
As was the usual case, Lyle heard the dictates of his partner and quietly obliged him. He hardly had entered the office when Victor said, "I've been doing a lot of thinking about our company."

"So have I. I think we're losing control. We're growing too fast," Lyle managed to say in agreement.

"That's exactly what I've been thinking," barked Victor.

Lyle knew much more was coming, so he waited for his partner's decisive ideas. The question was, what would they do? Neither had much experience growing a company. They knew it could be a very difficult company if they didn't handle it properly.

"I know what we need," said Victor, "but I don't want to pay for

it."

"Are you talking about getting an operations manager?"

"Right on. We also have another problem. Have you noticed the size of our legal bills? David Sherwood is not cheap. He has raised his fees again; I think that's the third or fourth time."

"What do you suggest? Should we change legal counsel?"

"I suggest a few things, but that's not one of them. In fact, it involves more legal fees. I have an idea that David may find attractive, and if so, I think he will lower his fees as part of the deal."

"That sounds interesting. I'm all ears. What do you have in mind?"
"First, I think we should divide the company up into three or more entities. Three come to mind: homebuilding is one, rental apartments another, and a third would be a nonprofit division specializing in affordable housing. True, the nonprofit entity would own all of the properties, but we can work for salaries and also wear the hat of a general contractor and receive construction fees. To get the ball rolling, what we need is a fee generator."

"So how do we go about it, since we don't know much about how nonprofits work?"

"We don't have to know much. What we need is a rainmaker, someone who can generate jobs for us with the government," Victor stated.

"All right, I surrender. Who possibly do you have in mind as the rainmaker?"

"The way I see it, now that Bart is a shoo-in for the Senate, I think that Bart will want to repay David. One way he can do that would be to give David favored access to some affordable housing projects when they come up in Arizona."

"Excellent, but how does David come out?"

"We make him a partner in our third division. He would get a one-third ownership with no investment and all the allowable salaries and legal fees. Then, I will ask him to lower the other legal fees that he charges us."
"Partner, sometimes you drive me crazy, but I must hand it to you. Tell me, did you get a message from God? How the hell did you ever dream the whole thing up?"

"I don't sleep anymore. I stay up all night thinking of new concoctions," Victor said as he broke composure, pleased with himself, a big smile broadening his face.

As the meeting ended, Lyle winced as he thought of the pattern that had been established between them. Victor did not know it, but Lyle had reached the stage of stomach disruptions, daily heartburn, and a growing number of headaches as a result of Victor's controlling ways. He kept asking himself, Is the price I am paying with Victorworth it? That old saying "What price glory?" was haunting him.Gradually his insides were beginning to ripple, like a creaky floor giving way to the disruptive impact of heavy boots. Yet his wife, Karen, loved seeing those big checks every month. He wasn't really enjoying his work, but he couldn't climb down off the money tree.

***

Nathanial and Samantha no longer spoke to one another. They agreed through counsel to sell the house and divide the net proceeds. Samantha was glad to rid herself of the burden of maintaining the home; she now could substantially reduce her household expenses. She still had plenty of cash, and of course she still owned half of all Nathanial's assets, except for those in his trust. Further meetings between counsels to separate all the assets were
planned. It was understood that each party would be responsible for his or her own legal fees.

Once all were to agree and both parties signed the documents, Samantha would file for divorce immediately. As soon as the judge signed the decree, she and Gary would be married quickly by a justice of the peace. Then they would wing their way to Los Angeles and board a luxury liner bound for Tahiti.

Samantha would never look back at the high-powered social life that she had experienced for fifteen years. She had lost her local popularity, but she had gained a new life.

***

Once the campaign treasury deficit was eliminated as part of the divorce settlement, Brandon quickly dismissed his lawsuit against Nathanial. Although Brandon no longer had to withdraw from his campaign, the campaign had lost its luster for him, and there was no doubt that Nathanial, the giant, had fallen, and Brandon would no longer have his assistance, if he had stayed in the race.

Once the political titan, Nathanial was now minimized. Quickly his so-called friends abandoned him shamelessly. He was no fool; he recognized he had lost his power. For the first time, he became aware of how much he had cared for Samantha, or at the very least how useful she had become to him. It was too late; he was a beaten man. He dropped out of politics and lost all desire to return to it.
He was still wealthy, but in effect, homeless. Eventually, he decided to go into business and bought an existing business called Spare 'n' Strike Bowling. He now mingled with people he formerly considered beneath him. He willingly embraced the fact that he was commonly called Nat by his patrons. He knew that he had no interest in bowling; he did not know how to bowl, nor did he care about it. He bought the business just to keep busy and try his hand at making some money.

He displayed none of the pictures showing him with governors, senators, and many other prominent figures. He eradicated his past with as much abandon as a typist strikes the delete key.
THE VENGEFUL UNHINGED

PART 2

TEN YEARS LATER, CIRCA 1975
THE VENGEFUL UNHINGED

TRIBULATIONS GALORE

"David, I'm sorry to drag you away from your meeting, but I have something very serious to talk to you about."

"Honey, I am very busy, but if it's serious enough, I'll drop everything."

"Is there any chance we can meet sometime during the day? We will need privacy. I don't want to be home with the kids."

"Tell you what, it's eleven now. I have a lunch date, but I could break away at two. Can you come downtown to the office? We can then maintain absolute privacy." Sensing something really important on her mind, he asked, "Can you give me a little hint of what it's all about? Do I detect that you've been crying? Has something happened to the children or Aunt Jean?"

"No," Mista forced herself to say boldly. "It's nothing like that. Please wait. See you at two."

She entered Granada Avenue, which was located west of the central downtown area. It was the entrance to a formerly exclusive area inhabited by the upper-crust during early statehood. Often referred to as Snob Hollow, where the wealthy of the day had lived and erected magnificent mansions, which were rich in tradition, but were architecturally out of date and appeared weather-worn due to the passage of time. The area, with a few exceptions, had been converted into a series of multiple uses, including homes that now
offered bed and breakfast, restaurants that retained their historic charm despite their false fronts, converted offices that externally still resembled older homes, and a few apartment structures that had replaced demolished edifices. The Owls Club was one of the more impressive structures; it formerly had been one of the larger mansions, but it had undergone an extensive change of use. Very few successive generations continued to reside in the original dwellings, but a few families did retain ownership to pass on as a family heirloom.

The firm of Altman, Silver, and Sherwood had expanded. It had two additional full-time partners, a paralegal and a secretary for each senior partner, a bookkeeper, and a file clerk. Bennett and Arthur magnanimously declared that David was the one most responsible for their accelerated growth. At the end of the year, when bonuses were handed out, David modestly accepted the largest share.

Their offices lay within a three-story structure with six bedrooms in the Spanish mission style of brick stucco. The building had an arched portico and a mission tile roof, instead of the usual adobe tamped down and covered with burlap. The interior wood floors added a luminous touch to the regal appearance.

As she entered the offices, Mista's spirits brightened at the sight of the highly polished entry-hall chandelier, which she admired so much. She had worked very hard to achieve its gloss, and every time she saw it, she was filled with joy for what she had helped to accomplish. It was four feet tall with twelve bright lights nestled in
wrought-iron elk antlers that gave the chandelier its full height. It was a glorious piece and one of the reasons that Mista had jumped at the chance to assist with the interior decoration.

She had learned to love history through her talks with Aunt Jean, and as she did the research on the home, she marveled at what she learned about it. Working alongside Carol Tolliver, a well-known local interior decorator, added rays of sunshine to her dismal moments, which were occurring daily like a brooding fungus.

Wherever possible, they retained original materials, fabrics, colors, and patterns, restoring them when necessary. The charm, the detail and thought that led to the design of the original home, remained on display. Intricate woodwork, carved fireplaces, a paneled library, and a magnificent staircase warmed hearts like a massage. To add consistency, all original bathroom and kitchen tiles, furniture, and textiles, were maintained.

Experts proclaimed that the building's charm as an original historical landmark justified its listing in the National Register of Historic Places.

As Mista sat down, her negative thoughts soon resurfaced as a stabbing pain gripped her head. With some effort, she raised her head and asked Sally, the receptionist, whether she had any aspirin. "I have a splitting headache. I wonder if this is what they call a migraine." Sally, who was only too glad to be of assistance, quickly procured two aspirins and a glass of water from the supply room for
her; she also notified Mista that David had not returned yet from lunch.

David arrived about ten minutes later. He was in the middle of contract negotiations between warring partners, which didn't make it easy for him to shift gears. As soon as he spied Mista's signs of distress, he realized that he must refocus quickly to give her undivided attention. "Hi, what's happened to my beautiful lifetime companion?" He turned, nodding knowingly to Sally, who was accustomed to the sadness that often crossed their threshold.

As he and Mista walked up the stairway and down the short hallway to his office, David wrapped her in his arms, hoping to lift her spirits. As soon as they entered his office, before he could say a word, she hurriedly cried out, "You're not going to be very happy with me. The kids are fine, even though they make me very nervous."

His eyes probed to and fro, seeking to read her expression. "Okay. What is it then, sweetheart?"

"I feel awful. I've kept a secret from you; I didn't know what to do. I was so afraid that you would be unhappy with me. I couldn't get around to telling you. It's been a few weeks now, and I'll be showing soon."

"Hey, hold on, are you trying to tell me that you're pregnant?"

"Oh, David, I'm so sorry. I know we had decided that I would always wear my diaphragm, but I must have forgot. I'm at my wits' end."
"Honey," he said thoughtfully, "it's not something that we planned, but it is okay. We can love a fourth child just as much as we love our three kids now." Though, he asked himself, how the hellcould this have happened?

"Oh, David," she cried out, "I wish it were that easy. Honey, do you understand what I'm saying? I'm going crazy now with three kids. I couldn't stand having another child. I dread being pregnant again. I dread the morning sickness. I'm an unfit mother now. I couldn't live with another child."

"We could make things easier for you if you would allow full-time help. I know we've discussed this before, but...but just think, if we did bring in more help, many of the pressures you face would go away. You know we can afford it."

"You know I wish it were so, but I couldn't stand to have someone else in the house all the time. She would get on my nerves and make matters worse. I know you mean well, but it just won't work out. I just don't have the temperament for it," she admitted.

David sat next to her, cradling her around the shoulders. "Let me make it easy for you. Whatever you need, whatever you want to do, is acceptable to me. I want you to be happy. Honey, you could have told me earlier. It wasn't necessary that you carry the burden alone. You are what you are, and I don't expect more. It gets back to our vows—for better or worse."

For the first time, she lightened up, and she leaned into him. She cupped his face and kissed him with a force bred of continuing
love. "You have no idea what you have just said. It means so much to me. We have been married for over ten years, and I still adore you. Not only because of your understanding, but because so many people respect you. You have accomplished so much since I first met you. I'm always so worried that I can't keep up with you."

"Whoa there, Nellie, hang on to your hooves. You're doing just fine, and remember, I have some very good partners to help build our growth."

"David, you run away from modesty as much as I run from my responsibilities." A bit of her gusto reappeared, which was her patterned response when he dodged accolades thrown his way. "Your partners know that these new offices are primarily because of you."

She looked longingly at him. Fear was evident in her searching eyes. "David, I'm desperate. Please don't be mad at me." She broke down, sobbing uncontrollably. David had never seen her like this. "What is it, honey, how can I help?"

With a forced effort, she blurted out. "I... I need... I must have an abortion."

David grew quiet, aware there was nothing he could say. All he knew is that he had to help her.

"Mista dear, put your mind at ease. I'm very happy with three kids, who are wonderful most of the time," he chuckled.
"I talked to Dr. Pritchard today," she cried out. "Although they're legal now, most doctors shy away from the procedure. I guess they're afraid of the possible backlash. I pleaded with him, and he consented after he was assured that it would remain absolutely confidential. I asked him to also tie my tubes," she added somewhat shyly, still embarrassed, still feeling at fault. "David, I hope you don't mind. Please don't be mad at me. This means no more children for us."

"Since I gain your sanity, I think that's more important. As I say, three children is a good number, and raising Amber is like having a fourth child, anyway. She's brilliant but terribly kinetic; she taunts you instinctively, and sad to say, I think she enjoys it. I wonder how long you can handle her. I'm beginning to think a private school for troubled children will be necessary."

"I would like to try that. Lately, I find myself screaming more and more at the kids. You know that I'm a neat freak; they pay no attention when I try to keep the house neat, and it's driving me crazy. The more they disobey the house rules, the more I keep losing control. I can't seem to help myself."

"Honey, the playroom that we're adding will be finished in a few months. As we both discussed, that will be the one room where they don't have to clean up after themselves. That will cut down on your supervision."

"I sure hope so. I always thought I would love children and have great patience with them. I'm finding out that I love them, but they make me frantic. I'm so sorry to disappoint you. I know that I'm not
the same person you married. I've fallen down in so many ways. Look at how our social life has deteriorated. I'm too tired at the end of the day to go out and mingle with friends." She looked at him with that big-eyed, doleful look, which used to captivate him but now bore the tag of despair. "What kills me is that I've also become a dud as a sexual partner."

"Dry your tears, sweetheart. Go home and take a nice, long, hot bath. Get a babysitter. We're going out for a nice, quiet dinner this evening."

"You're not just somebody I love; you're my best friend," she

said.

"You're still my one and only," he said. He pulled her toward him and held her tightly. He could feel her tension. He now realized this was no ordinary stress; she was in trouble. Humor may help, but that was a Band-Aid. Once the abortion was over, they would have to talk things out and maybe get her some professional help.

As they neared the front door, hands clasped, she suddenly, feeling alive, noticed the oil paintings arranged on the half wall next to the window into the large conference room. They had recently been installed. She walked over to examine them. They depicted three widely respected historic jurists, Oliver Wendell Holmes, Benjamin Cardozo, and Earl Warren, famous for their well-reasoned landmark decisions.
"I wonder if those geniuses of the law still had crazy situations happen at home." For the moment the old Mista had returned, and her charm was contagious, even though both knew it wouldn't last.

***

David smiled. "You old codger, what are you up to?"

They were seated in Bennett's office. Bennett had called the meeting with David and Arthur. He said it concerned the future of the firm.

The look on Bennett's face said it all. In the past year, the man had aged at a pace that would challenge a fleet-footed track star. "Time for a confessional. Here's the story of me. My mind races, and my memory pulls a disappearing act on me. I have to keep a diary each day so I can remember what I've done and where I've been. Of course, this means I can no longer effectively practice. You have to replace me. I know we've talked about it before, or at least I think that's what I think I remember. Well, anyway, the time has come, gentlemen. Actually, if you'll permit me some doleful humor, my illness is, in a sense, fortunate. I came into this world as a baby, and as my senility begins to envelop me, I will go out like a baby. So I'm having a jolly good time looking forward to the toddler stage."

"You know, Bennett, how much we will miss you. You have always been the backbone of our practice," said David.

Bennett replied without feeling. "Plaudits are for another time, another place."
***

The new client at the Desert Club had Pappy La Rosa worried. Granted, he, Mason, and Gino were not upright legal citizens, but they knew how and when to play it straight. Carlos Aguirre was another story. He was a brutal man, a drug overlord in Columbia known for his sudden outbursts of temper and at times irrational behavior. When Pappy learned that Carlos Aguirre had become a client at the Desert Club and had deposited $50 million in the lockboxes, it bothered him a great deal.

He and Mason were sitting across from each other, having a private lunch at Moon Glow. They seldom ate there. In fact, the place didn't open its doors until dinnertime. Pappy's paranoia decided where they should eat, insisting that they order in food. Mason understood; Pappy believed that imaginary forces were always trying to listen to their conversations.

"I don't like it," frowned Pappy. "I'm worried that if Aguirre loses a lot of money, he'll go bananas. That's part of it. The bigger reason is, the feds follow the money, especially hot money. Although Aguirre lives in South America, the FBI has agents pay snoops to keep an eye on him and other crime kingpins. The amount that he brought in is very big money, and it draws lots of attention; he puts us at great risk."

"I'm really sorry, Pappy. I thought we had him checked out. The best we could find out was that he owned real estate throughout South America, Mexico, and he even had properties here, mostly in
California. I guess I got a little careless because we've done so well for so long."

"We have to figure out a way to get rid of him. I'll talk to Gino and see what we can work out. I'm not talking about liquidating him. I'm talking about giving him lots of reasons to leave."

"I guess I'm pretty dumb, but now that the money is here, what can we do about it?" asked Mason.

"We have ways of planting seeds in various grapevines. If Aguirre gets word that the feds are about to close in on that money, he'll yank it so fast that your head will spin. In fact, the more that I think about it, maybe we're growing too fast. We have been in business for over ten years and have a very good clientele. I'm beginning to think we should now close our membership to newcomers."

"Whatever you say, Pappy," Mason said timidly.

"Tell Aguirre that we have closed our doors temporarily for repairs. We expect a delay of at least a week. The only exception, of course, is if they want access to their lockboxes. This means, when I say, 'Close the doors,' I mean shut them off absolutely to all clientele. Call any in town and those out of town who have made reservations."

"Okay. I'll tell Claude."

The twinkle came back. The usual Pappy, amused and jovial, said, "Time for you to take a vacation. You may not get another chance like this."
As soon as Pappy departed, Mason called Ronnie. She had suggested a few days ago that they inspect some out-of-state private schools for their daughter, who they had decided was a little genius. She had just won a statewide spelling bee for kids between the ages of eight and ten. Ronnie smiled, "She's a brainiac like you, my dear husband. When I married you, I knew you'd make a lot of money, but I never expected you to father a whiz kid."

"Pack our bags. We're heading out to look at the schools you want to see."

"Wow, so sudden. What brought this on?"

"I'll tell you all about it when I get home. Be sure and plan some sack time for us. We need a good lusting session."

"I hear you, my dear, my stallion, my love mate." He rang off, but his thoughts continued the conversation.

They had been married almost eleven years; their relationship was deeper than ever, and whenever they could manage the time, they carried on like two honeymooners. Their relationship was certainly unique. Although she had made a one-year promise to him to reform her extracurricular sexual activities, he had never expected her to keep it. She still had James and Roxy as secondary lovers, but her straying from the nest had not altered their relationship one bit.

***

"Mr. Sherwood, Senator Langley is on the line."
"Hi, Bart, have you thought about a third term yet?"

"Not really. I guess we should start thinking about it. We're, what, two years out?"

"About that."

"I really called about a new federal housing rental program that is catching on. I think you and Cavalier should really jump on it. So far, not many developers have learned about the program, but that's expected for any new federal program, especially since the regulations are complicated. I have met somebody who can take you through it."

"By all means. What's his name, and how does he get compensated?"

"His name is Brad Driscoll. I'll have one of my staff call you to give you his contact information. I've already mentioned your name to him, so he expects a call from you. He would be willing to work as a consultant for you and your associates."

"You know, your referrals have been tremendous. You've produced a lot of new business for Cavalier."

"All part of the job. Now let's talk about a new campaign. Let me start out by giving you some lowdown. When this second term is up in two years, I will have held office for twelve years. It's a true stamina job. Frankly, I love the power, the recognition, and all that good stuff, but the demands on my time are beginning to kill me. I'm facing pressures from all sides. The meetings, the speeches, the
preparation and research, the trips back home to meet with constituents, the goodwill meetings with visitors from back home, I can go on and on. It's, in many ways, thankless and unforgiving. I both love it and hate it; I have no freedom. When I talk to Julie about our lifestyle, I think she has adapted to the Washington life better than me. She even manages our house and the kids like a benevolent sergeant at arms. Because I'm the so-called Golden Boy, I am besieged by attractive women on almost a daily basis. I've had a few drop in to the office, close the door, and before I can say anything, they practically undress right in front of me. I've resisted the temptation so far. I know how easy it is to be set up, or caught, or both, and then of course, big-time scandal follows."

"That's what I call a flattering dilemma. What are you going to do before you weaken?"

"I have hired a new executive assistant, a woman who knows her way around Washington and its politics. I've given her an idea what to expect. We agreed that she would sit in on all meetings with only women present. I've got to put a stop to all the flirting, sometimes by more than one, as well as actual come-ons."

"I can see now that a new career beckons, if you ever decide to step down. I don't think you would even have to know how to act. Just smile and Hollywood will love you."

"That, too, adds up to more public life." Bart wistfully replied.
"When it's all said and done, I think you'll moan and groan, but I expect you'll run again. You're doing a great job. Your approval ratings are some of the highest in Congress."

"If I do go again, do you mind if I moan and groan to you?"

"My soft shoulder has been toughened. It's all part of lawyering."

"To change the subject, do I understand you have been named the Jewish Man of the Year? How's Barney Stone handling that?"

"I don't think he will have any obvious heartburn, but I'm sure he's seething and wishes he could cut me up into little pieces. He really has nothing to complain about. He was the Jewish Man of the Year about five years ago. He has never served as president, which is the usual reason for the award. He received it because of his big gifts each year. I'm sure that I'm receiving the award because I've paid my dues as president for two years. Actually, I enjoyed the job. It can be political, and some of the controversial issues are argued vociferously, or should I say debated, as Jews love to do."

"That's what Jews are noted for, openly stating their position. Right?"

"Thanks for putting it mildly. I've learned one trick that seems to work. There are some who are negative all the time, against everything. Often past presidents wouldn't call upon them at a meeting when a hotly contested issue came up. I go the other way. I
call upon them first. I let them make their spiel and then allow those in favor of more reasonable positions to get their point across."

"Not bad. I'm in line to chair the Ways and Means Committee. I'll keep your approach in mind, because as you well know, all senators have something to say."

"With that, do I have your permission to now close the conversation, Senator?"

"Almost. Before we close off, tell me about Bennett. I understand he's not doing well."

"That's both true and sad. Sometimes I wish that certain people could live forever. He's going to leave the partnership very soon, because he's too weak to continue. He doesn't know it yet, but I will insist that his name stay on the letterhead no matter how many partners we add."

"Nicely put. Tell the good old boy that I asked about him. I still remember when he helped to save our ass during that rampage by Joe Tully."

***

"Lyle, can we set up a meeting soon with Victor? There's a new federal program out that I want to talk over with him and you. This could be an entirely new profit center."

"By all means, I'll round him up and call you back with a date and time."
"If you'd like, I'll be glad to take you and Victor out to lunch to break the spell of our usual routine."

"I doubt if that will work. Victor hates to take a break for lunch. It's part of his game plan."

"Game plan? How's that?"

"When you live with a guy in business long enough, you begin to understand how he likes to operate. Victor likes to go slim at breakfast, slim at lunch, and then at dinnertime, in the privacy, or should I say the seclusion of his home, he pigs out. Haven't you noticed? His waistline is spreading, and I don't think it's due to approaching middle age."

"One of those sneaky kinds of eaters, huh? Okay, let's play by his rules."

The three men sat down in Victor's office as always. David singled out Victor, knowing that not only was his attention necessary to make a decision, but just as importantly, to lighten his mood so that the meeting would go smoother. "Congratulations. I understand you finally took a vacation after over ten years. How was Machu Picchu?" asked David.

"My wife's nagging paid off," said Victor. "To tell you the truth, it was spectacular. It also told me another thing. I'd better get back in shape. Machu is believed to be on the fringe of heaven. I'm more literal. I see it as a stone village built on a hillside, virtually in the clouds. I'll tell you one thing. If those Mayans were living today, they'd
all be architects, builders, and businessmen. They knew what they were doing." He stopped abruptly, quickly adjusting to the fact that this was a business meeting. "So, David, let's get on with it. What does our rainmaker have in store for us?"

"Senator Langley has introduced me to a consultant in Washington, Brad Driscoll. He's familiar with the new housing act titled Section Eight. Essentially, seventy-five percent of new households admitted to the program each year must be extremely low income, below thirty percent of the local median or below the poverty line, whichever is higher. Other new households may have incomes up to eighty percent of the area median."

"So who's in charge of this program?" asked Victor.

"The local housing agencies set the admission standards and issue the rental vouchers."

"Sounds interesting. Circumstantially, that fits in with some of our new plans. How do we get started?" asked Victor.

"Frankly, there's a lot more to it. Lots of paperwork. It's a typical fed project. That's where Brad Driscoll comes in, who I suggest we hire as a consultant. If we jump in, quickly, the fact that it is very complicated can be helpful. The complications can serve as a barrier to ward off competition."

"So we're going to be the modern-day Mayans." As was usual, when Victor said something that he found amusing, he smiled,
although others were not particularly amused. His delivery did not help.

"One other item, I might add," said David. "It's important that we set up a nonprofit corporation to spearhead the program. The nonprofit will pay all fees and expenses, and if proceeds remain, it will use those funds to acquire more properties. That will sit well with the housing agency. You will benefit from fees that the non-profit will pay you."

"Do you mind if we send a thank-you letter to the senator?" Lyle asked. "Of course, it will be accompanied by a donation to his campaign. I assume he will be running for a third term."

"The best answer that I can give you is, he will appreciate the donation, and I'm sure that when it's all said and done, the fever along the Potomac will grab him again."

"Go ahead and form the non-profit corporation. It's something that Lyle and I want to proceed on."

***

It had been a few days since Mista had come to his office with fear showing in her eyes and a frown that draped her beautiful face in despair. David's thoughts now darted back to the revelations that she had made that day. The fact that she had withheld the news that she was pregnant disturbed him, but that was small by comparison to the gradual breakdown of her composure that he was witnessing.
Previously he had paid far too little attention to her plight; he was aware, and yet he was unaware. Perhaps he was just selfish, or he was just too busy working on building his own career. Yet what could he do? What could anyone do? Her mind was inflexible, set in one fixed direction. They had made a few previous attempts at calling in a professional consultant for help, but he could tell each time that she was not really listening, or didn't care, or both. He did notice that she was continuing to withdraw, as if an interior lamp had been turned on, lighting the way for her to sink deeper within herself.

It all began after Amber was born; the child early on was a hell-raiser. When Amber started to walk and talk, they then began to recognize that she was a troubled child, so they took her in for a medical evaluation. Doctors diagnosed her as hyperkinetic and said she would require special attention and understanding. Amber refused to take the medicine that would quiet her down. Her lack of ability to focus in school became apparent, and one of the school counselors diagnosed her as having an attention deficit disorder.

It was about that time that Mista began to crumble. She made matters worse; her inability to control herself became an increasing problem. By the time that their second child, Brad, was born, the household had begun to fall apart. At first Mista agreed to hire some help to keep the house clean and do the cooking. She also requested that a specialist be retained to help with Amber, but Mista became her own worst enemy. Her impatience and inability to follow her own household rules led to frequent outbursts. Her screaming at the children soon drove all help away.
David was beginning to lose hope, even the playroom idea didn't work out. He had thought that this was especially important to deter her hang up with neatness, but the "messes," as Mista called them, only grew greater in her eyes. He recalled her surprising observation, Mista soberly remarked, "I thought a playroom would give the kids an opportunity to escape from me rather than the other way around." David appreciated her admission, but he soon found out that despite their playroom rules, which was that the kids did not have to put their things away until the end of each day, and were free to play by themselves without supervision, that Mista broke the rules.

She began entering the playroom before the end of the day, and then her temperamental blowups would start all over again. When she saw clutter, it so violated her obsessive need for neatness that she lost control. David reasoned that it stemmed from the clutter that existed during her early home life, which Herman and Annabelle ignored.

Their last child, Cindy, fortunately had a calm composure, but once the childbirth nurse had departed, Mista soon replayed her old script. It was then that they jointly agreed that Mista would wear a diaphragm every day. They were both happy to stop with three children.

Still puzzled about his marriage, David decided to leave the office early. After an absence of some ten years, he felt drawn to Armory Park to once again sit on a park bench and watch the aged, the homeless, and other strollers walk by, as they carried on idle
conversations, and some sat and played a game of checkers or backgammon. He first went to the park when he received notification that Mason Grewe had been disbarred as a result of the complaint that David had filed.

He found it calming to watch the elderly, whose life primarily lay behind them, leading a contemplative life. Were they enjoying it? He was sure that many had once been active; certainly many had incurred the same domestic problems or issues with their children; some, no doubt, had been leaders in their community, but now, absent the limelight, they had seemingly adjusted to the resulting anonymity. Their focus had changed completely. Pain and ailments, and forgone friends, were common talk among them.

It was true that Bennett could easily be one of them, for he certainly had reached the time to withdraw, but David knew that his friend never would allow himself to be so inactive despite his waning memory. As long as he was rational, Bennett would pursue ideas, make contributions, and do as much as he could. Though forgetful, he could still be active in the present.

As those who were often forgotten continued to pace before him slowly, David asked: Should I, or perhaps better yet, will I divorceMista? It had become apparent that she was no longer the sameperson he had married. The answer came to him rather quickly. I willnot allow my children to live a regressive life with her parents. Hecouldn't run the risk that she would take the children to live with them. The likelihood was increasing, since Aunt Jean was now ailing, and
Annabelle was caring for her in their home. Mista, in turn, was visiting her aunt more often, and of course, bringing the children along, for there was ample space outdoors for them to run and play and help in the vegetable garden.

He knew that if they were divorced, Mista would most likely be granted custody. Although she was unfit, as she admitted, the courts traditionally awarded custody to the wife, and David assumed that her composure before a judge would be that of a responsible parent. The fact that her lawyer would advise her to seek custody, so she could receive child support payments in addition to alimony, further supported his conclusion.

He came to another conclusion. He must now play a stronger hand in their marriage. In the past, he would calmly try to sit down and work out a reasonable solution. Unfortunately, Mista was beyond that stage. He sadly concluded there was sickness within her. He had no choice. He had to be the stronger of the two and make all major family decisions.

His new game plan was to sit down with Mista, and as tactfully as possible, tell her that he wanted to build an attached guesthouse with its own separate private entrance. He would do the interviewing, and he would hire a trained professional to assume responsibility for raising the children and maintaining the household. He would further insist that Mista get a job to get her out of the house. As a starter, she would work in his office as a secretary to assist Louise with his affairs. He knew that Arthur and Bennett would not appreciate the
added overhead, so he would pay her a salary from his personal funds and not burden the partnership.

All other grand ideas and dreams for their marriage were no better than "thoughts unfulfilled." That hindrance, however, would not deter him from pursuing his own career.

He reached one other final conclusion. It was painful to admit and equally painful to accept, but like it or not, their marriage had now changed to one of convenience; romance between them had vanished like an unfinished playwright's script.
THE VENGEFUL UNHINGED

AIN'T GOT NO MORE

The stiff-lipped banker appeared rigid, but those who did business with him knew that he had a soft underbelly; he would go out of his way to satisfy their needs. He was white haired, with a solemn look that added to his upright bearing. Merle Swanson sat at his desk as Victor and Lyle, together with David Sherwood, entered his spartan office. Swanson extended a handshake without standing. "Come in, gentlemen," he said crisply.

"Good to see you again," Victor said cordially, his voice ending on an uncharacteristically lyrical note, while he clasped Merle's hand warmly. Victor, like many businessmen, departed from his usual comportment when he was seeking to make a sale. "Last time I saw you was at the Appraisers Association luncheon. I thought it encouraging that they predict a marked increase in real estate values over the next three years, which will strengthen the security of your loan portfolio."

While Victor continued his comforting remarks, Lyle and David also shook hands with Merle, who continued to remain seated. The visitors sat down in stiff-backed wooden chairs, facing the man of power, the one who controlled the purse strings, the one who furnished the lifeblood that developers depended upon to carry on their building activities. Financing was the key factor, furnishing the same nourishment that gas and oil delivered to motorized vehicles.
Lyle was only too happy to allow Victor to carry on the conversation. When he was in the presence of bankers, he became conscious of many little things: the way he swallowed with difficulty, his exaggerated posture while sitting, the twitch in his right calf muscle, the bifocals lying on Swanson's desk, and even the picture of Desmond Darnell, bank president, in a simple, thin black frame on the wall facing him. The distractions, try as he may, offered no soothing of the beast that clawed at his stability.

The frugal appearance of the office was no doubt contrived, exemplifying the conservative nature of the bank. Entrusted with billions to safeguard, the bank used appearances to maintain the public's confidence.

"Yes, I thought it was interesting," Merle's voice intoned matter-of-factly. "Trouble with those damn appraisers is that you never know whether they mean it or are just trying to please you guys or us guys. In fact," he said, reaching for his glasses and placing them low on the bridge of his pointed nose, while looking at a sheet of paper that he extracted from a small pile on his desk, "I just got our report on the loans that we made last month. I swear I disagree with at least half of their appraisals, but those appraisals certainly take the heat off of me if some of the loans later go bad."

"Sounds like you are making your share of loans." Victor continued on in the same pleasant manner. "Whether you accept the appraisers' valuations or not, I think it's generally agreed that market conditions will be strong for at least the next eighteen months.
Because of that solid demand, we are about to launch the most ambitious growth plan that we have ever attempted. We've asked David Sherwood to join us this morning. He is our partner in a new corporation that we have set up, Cavalier Frontier. We are about to embark on an affordable housing project under the recently promulgated Section Eight program, and David will be at the helm."

"Let me stray for just a moment," interrupted Merle. "You have all been very loyal customers and one of our most successful. I like what you do. I understand your expansion program that you previously told me about. I've never done any Section Eight housing, but I'm sure that with David running the operation, we can get that program started also. Having said all those good things, there is a problem."

Lyle shifted uneasily in his chair. Victor, who usually had a rejoinder on any topic, remained silent, looking intently at Merle, trying to get a reading on his unpredictable negative statement. He decided to proceed with his presentation, picking up his set of rolled architectural plans and beginning to remove the rubber band to open them. "We've prepared the drawings to go ahead and... Well, here, let me show them to you." He stood up and placed them on the banker's desk.

"Put 'em away," snapped Merle. "We have no money."

A heavy silence draped the room. Victor's shoulders lowered in disbelief. "I should think you would want to make the loan, because the projects are so healthy," he said.
"I do," Merle intoned in his cryptic, self-styled stoic voice. "Can't."

"I don't understand." Lyle suddenly reacted, no longer intimidated, questioning the banker's apparent inability to provide funds.

"You fellas been watching what the government's been doing in the last sixty days?" Swanson shot back. "President Carter's actions, including those of the bankers that run the Federal Reserve, do not attempt to hide the fact that inflation is out of control. The national debt is climbing to sky-high proportions. The government recently raised the discount rate by two points, abruptly raising our cost of borrowing. Simultaneously, the feds are floating Treasury bills and notes in excess of nine percent. We're experiencing a money drain. Every day a larger number of depositors are withdrawing funds from our savings accounts to invest in the government securities; a stampede is occurring. We are taking a long look at putting a lid on all withdrawals. We like your project. We want to continue making loans to Cavalier. We simply don't have the money. We had a board of directors meeting yesterday and decided to ice all new loans. I doubt if you can get a loan anywhere in town, or for that matter, anywhere in the country."

The three men felt unprecedented dejection as they left Swanson's office. Without advance warning, they were suddenly facing their biggest crisis. Could they save their business? There was no doubt that failures would be cropping up throughout the country.
How could a builder with a large land inventory and huge debt payments survive without financing?

Victor turned to David. "We may need your legal services now more than ever. This involves a lot more than just the loss of the Section Eight project. We must see you tomorrow."

"Can you come to my office?" asked David. "I have a full schedule, but if I have to rearrange or cancel some meetings, I will. You're right, we must meet. Call Louise. Tell her you talked to me and have her work you in for at least one hour. If we need more time, which I think we will, I will work it out. If we have to work evenings, so be it."

Upon arriving at the firm's building the following day, Victor and Lyle were immediately routed to David's office, formerly a master bedroom, located on the second floor. David greeted them as they approached. The seriousness of the meeting was displayed on their troubled faces; they looked like depressed souls attending the services of a departed friend. "Good morning. You chose a good time to meet; in case we run over, we can encroach into the lunch hour. I'm anxious to hear your thoughts. That meeting with Merle Swanson reaffirmed something that I keep reminding myself. Never assume. Only depend on hard facts."

Victor recoiled negatively from David's innocuous remark. He twisted the meaning into a barb pointed at him, since he had earlier assumed that financing was a sure thing. "I've got no time for humor
or subtle remarks," he shot back. "Let's not waste time on frivolous talk."

David quickly grasped Victor's mood; he had never intended to broadside him. It was apparent that Victor was in attack mode. This called for caution. Victor would need very little provocation to lash out.

They sat down in the type of large high-backed chairs usually reserved for a living room. The chairs fit the overall scheme of the remodeled office, depicting comfort rather than a commercial setting. Overall, the lawyers had been careful to restore the appearance and feel of the charm of the older home that they had acquired and remodeled. They went further, no ego walls were displayed in their offices; they considered it out of character with the decor to show an assortment of educational certificates, awards, and trophies.

"Lyle and I have been drawing blanks; we've been up half the night searching for answers. We're plenty pissed off. Everything we have worked on for over the past fifteen years could collapse if we don't come up with answers."

"I just finished a meeting with some people who have a small business," replied David. "They too are crippled by the turn of events. They're going to approach private sources, including family and friends, and see if they can work it out."

"The problem is not that simple for us. We can raise a million or two, but that doesn't even come close to our needs. We need capital to cover payments on all the land we've acquired; plus the cost of
installing paving, plus the underground electrical and plumbing to convert the land into improved lots, is tremendous. After that, we need additional funds to construct models, maintain overhead, and promote," said Lyle.

"Actually," David said, "I have an idea, but it may be unrealistic." "Let's hear it. We're all ears," said Victor.

"I wouldn't say that it's a complete answer, but it may be a start. I expect that the national homebuilders will gobble up any Wall Street financing that is available. That means you must seek money from private sources. I see new money wearing two hats. One is as a lender at low rates to your buyers, and the second is as a partner in your profits. I don't think you have other choices."

Victor bristled at the suggestion; having Lyle as a partner was enough for him. He grunted. "It may not be worth going forward, if we have to share our profits."

"Hold on. If Cavalier is the only builder still constructing homes, you can raise prices. We know the demand for new housing is still strong. Your profits should be substantial, and then you could afford to have partners."

"I see where you're coming from," said Victor. "If we were to go that route, I'm not sure that we have the contacts to raise the large amount of capital that we would need."
"It's a way to stay alive," said Lyle, "but as Victor says, where are we going to find at least twenty-five million dollars to satisfy our needs?"

"That is a healthy chunk to raise in Tucson. Do you think you could possibly raise the funds in Phoenix or one of the big cities?" asked David.

Lyle suddenly sat upright, an idea filled his face with the crimson tones associated with a breakthrough idea. Spontaneously, he grabbed the conversation. "Guys, you may think I'm losing my mind, but when Karen and I were on vacation about three months ago, we stayed at a lovely spa hotel in Hawaii. We had no idea that many upscale Japanese found it a haven for escape. In fact, there is a new trend; many Japanese are buying hotels in Hawaii. While we were sitting in a restful lounge area between spa appointments, Karen and I met a lovely couple, Aiko Hamada and his wife, Miyuki. We got along so well during those brief moments that we ended up joining them for dinner that evening. Despite the fact that Aiko was making zillions in automotives, he was very modest about his success. When I told him about our company, he said that he and some of his friends, who were also staying at the hotel, were looking for real estate investments in the States. So far they've been focusing on high-rise office buildings in New York, Los Angeles, and Boston. He said that he had never thought of getting engaged in homebuilding, but that it sounded very intriguing. Like most vacation talk, I chalked the conversation up to idle chatter. I did follow up with
a nice note to Aiko and Miyuki when we returned home. They, in turn, acknowledged how much they enjoyed our company."

Victor usually dismissed Lyle's ideas, but the recent turn of events was cause for a change in his demeanor. "Partner, please make that call to Japan tomorrow. Find out if they plan on coming back to the States soon. We must meet with them wherever and whenever."

"Wish me luck. Three months can be an eternity. I can only hope they are truly interested. The inflationary spiral we're experiencing may alter their thinking."

Victor already had the answer for him. "As David said, we will be the only builder with financing. Hell, we'll sell more homes than Aunt Jemima can make pancakes."

David couldn't help but laugh at the witty metaphor. The change in Victor's attitude was remarkable. When it was to his advantage, he could easily transform the snarl he usually directed at Lyle into a warm and fuzzy feeling.

"I've never been to Japan," said David. "I'll be glad to travel there, if necessary, to firm up the relationship. Growth in Japan has been strong for many years now. They're making big inroads in electronics and car manufacture, and I just read that they are starting to take big positions in real estate in the United States. General Motors at first ignored the success of their automobile sales, but now they're being taken very seriously."
"I'll check the differences in the time zones and call Mr. Hamada when it's morning in Japan. I hope he remembers me and is still interested. Keep all your appendages crossed. This could be a big opportunity, or it could end up as a big bust."

By the time Lyle was prepared to call Mr. Hamada, apprehension had begun to take its toll. He felt terribly ill at ease, regressing as far back as to the time he had to make a speech in front of his college classmates. Between Victor's heavy-handed personality and his own general nervousness, he again wondered whether he was suited for business life. Like hot soup, it may be too difficult to handle, but he eyed it longingly nonetheless.

When Lyle finished offering his name to the Asian operator, who spoke English, he was surprised that he was quickly routed to Mr. Hamada's office. A private secretary picked up and verified his name, and within a few moments, the cheerful voice of Mr. Hamada greeted him. "Lyle, so good of you to call. We had such a nice time in Hawaii with you and your wife, and I was hoping that someday we would connect again. To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?"

"Hi...Mr. Hamada." Lyle found himself fumbling for words.

"One thing you must do immediately is to call me Aiko. After all, we're friends."

Lyle's confidence was returning. The warm welcome was so reassuring that his foreboding thoughts were dissipating. "I appreciate that, Aiko. I've called to discuss a business proposition with you. I
know you invest in real estate, but so far it is only in investment properties in the more cosmopolitan cities. What I have—"

"May I interrupt you, my good friend? I think you are talking about your company. You mentioned that someday your company may need investors for expansion. I ran the thought by some of my colleagues, and we could be interested in a homebuilding program as another avenue of investment."

Lyle went on to explain how the evaporation of loan financing had enveloped the industry and how Cavalier Homes could produce greater profits than ever before if they could develop a source of capital. Before the call was over, they set up a meeting in Las Vegas in two weeks. That was when Aiko and his friends were planning to visit the Desert Club.

The next day Lyle confirmed that he, along with Victor and David, looked forward to meeting them. They agreed upon a time and date, whereupon Aiko asked for a written background report on both Victor and David.

Little did they know that the spokesman and chief negotiator for the investor group would be Mason Grewe, who, along with Pappy, would become their partner in the new contemplated real estate company.
THE VENGEFUL UNHINGED

SAD TRUTHS

The overcast skies, descending into dark, billowing clouds, were a contrast to the typical sunny Tucson days. A severe storm that had originated in South America was headed northward. Usually that meant heavy downpours and possible flash floods. During such days, David was always wary that he would get trapped, as a handful of people did each year. Storms suffered bravado drivers sadly, especially those who thought they could drive through a flowing current, only to misgauge the depth and the swiftness with which the water gushed through large dips in the road or across riverbeds.

Sometimes the weather, such as it was today, would affect David's disposition. That didn't mean that he lashed out at people; rather, he would be gripped by melancholy, when alone and left with his thoughts. It was during just such a time that chance would lay its heavy hand. David received a disturbing call from Bart.

David forced a cheerful tone when he picked up the phone. "Hello, Senator. How's my country?"

"David, I can't talk long." Bart was anything but cheerful. "I haven't brought you up to date on what's been happening the past few weeks. My mother has developed a severe respiratory disease. She became so sick that I insisted, she be flown out in a chartered plane so that she could be checked out by one of the top pulmonary specialists in the country here in DC. She is presently under the doctor's care with round-the-clock nurses in the hospital. I skipped
out of her room for a few minutes while she was heavily sedated to tell you that I've taken leave of my senatorial duties. Her breathing is very irregular, and the doctor is still uncertain whether she will make it or not. I'll be camping here."

"Your mother is one fine lady. I can just imagine what you're going through," said David. "Please feel free to call me anytime, if for no other reason than to unload some of your tension."

"My dad is flying out, and I have asked an aide to pick him up. Julie has been wonderful throughout this ordeal. She personally called my dad to make sure that he stays at our house."

"Aging parents are no fun, my friend. Is there anything down here that needs attending? Anybody you want me to call?"

"No, not right now. There is one thing I should tell you. I've told my Tucson staff what's going on and asked them to contact you for any decisions or other assistance while I'm out of commission. If necessary, please make decisions for me."

"You bet. Try to settle back and get some sleep, if you can."

"Will do." Bart softly put the phone in its cradle. His grief only seemed to reinforce David's unsettled mood.

People's fragility captured his thoughts. Images of his parents, still healthy and robust, crossed his mind. He called his mother, suddenly feeling vulnerable. When she wasn't in, he left a message: "Just thought of you and Dad. I feel very lucky to have you both." Bart's call certainly motivated him. He wished that he could have his
parents over for dinner, but Mista's current problems and strange behavior scuttled that idea.

He wondered anew about the significance of Bart's changed circumstances. Would his mother's health, especially if she became immobilized, affect Bart's decision to run for a third term?

According to what he had heard on the street, Barney Stone, who had successfully maneuvered his land exchange along with Bart's continuing support, was now ten years later thinking of running a candidate who had a background in oil and gas to oppose Bart. Barney figured that he could not call upon Bart to support his new venture. It would be a complete turnabout. Barney had helped createthe Golden Boy, and now he wanted to bring him down.

David's wanderings were suddenly broken by the receptionist's call over the intercom. "I think your wife is on the line and has received some very bad news."

My God, what now? he asked himself. Is she suddenly having a problem with her recovery? The abortion had occurred three daysbefore, and the doctor advised considerable bed rest the entire week. They hired a special nurse to be at her side and a caregiver to cook and watch over the children. "Hi, honey," he said as cheerfully as he could, while weighed down by his mood swing that was draining his energy.

"David, it's Aunt Jean," Mista cried out. Panic was evident in her voice.
"Geez, how bad is it?"

"She died!" she screamed. "David, she just died." She broke away from the phone, sobbing so violently that he thought that she would collapse.

"Mista, can you hear me? Please calm yourself. I'm leaving right now. Baby, I love you. I'll be there for you. Just hang on."

Unsure that Mista heard anything, he rushed out of his office, barking to the receptionist. "Tell Louise to cancel all appointments. I'm heading home. There has been a death in the family."

Mista returned to the empty phone. "David, I'm on the verge of a nervous breakdown." Suddenly, the stillness on the other end quieted her down. "Are you there? Oh my gosh, what's happened?" She fell to the floor, virtually paralyzed, pains beginning to shoot through her.

Hearing the disturbance, the nurse rushed into the room, discovering Mista thrashing about in anguish with her hands between her legs, as if she could alleviate her distress by gripping the source of the pain. Then the nurse called the doctor; he advised that she be taken to emergency at the hospital for an examination to make sure that her stitches were intact.

When David arrived home, he quickly discovered that Mista and the nurse were not there. He searched the house for the maid. She told him that Mista was in the emergency ward at Tucson Medical Center. Quickly, he jumped in the car and headed for the hospital.
When the receptionist located Mista, she furnished him with directions to where Mista lay on a gurney in a hallway pending admittance to a semiprivate room.

Her appearance frightened him; she was as pale as freshly painted whitewash. She half opened her eyes, forcing strength upon seeing David, and in a garbled, weak voice, she whispered, "She took a nap and never woke up. Thank God, she had no pain. I will miss her terribly. She meant so much to me. I never thought that it could happen to her."

"I understand, sweetheart," he said very quietly. "I feel very guilty. I had planned to go out and see her, but I kept procrastinating. I knew she was weak, but I never thought that she might pass away."

"David..." She began to sob slowly. "I broke my stitches. The doctor here at the hospital just sewed me up again. I'm so sorry that you're burdened with my misery. I know you have your hands full."

"Hey there, take it easy. You are no burden." He bent down and softly kissed her. "I know how much you loved her. Right now I want you to just put your pretty head on a soft pillow and rest. I'll talk to the doctor and find out when I can take you home."

Three hours passed as Mista fell into a deep sleep. The doctor then decided that she could go home. Nurses helped her to dress and lowered her into a wheelchair, and an orderly wheeled her into the reception area. David smiled as she approached.
"I know what you need," he said in his most loving voice, punching up the words "you need" to show understanding for what she had been through. "I talked to the doctor, and he said it was all right for you to have a nice dry vodka martini. Then you can relax and think idle thoughts." He spoke to the attendant. "I'll go get my car and bring it to the front door. Please join me outside."

Watching Mista as she was being wheeled to the car, David could readily understand the severity of what she had just gone through. Usually when sitting, she sat tall in a statuesque pose. Now her shoulders were slumped, her face lowered, absorbed in the pavement. She was so helpless; she even looked smaller. He told himself: Whoever said that life was a bowl of cherries needs toreexamine his taste buds.

Alma Romano, the owner of The Cantina, a favorite Italian eatery, was on hand to greet them as they walked in. Alma always went out of her way to personally take their order and expedite their service. Alma was a middle-aged woman who maintained a trim waistline in spite of her high-caloric meals. She always found vision difficult, requiring that she wear thick lenses that magnified the size of her eyes. Often when she spoke, she would close in on her listener, nose to nose, because of her nearsightedness. David and Mista paid little attention to her disability and found her always pleasant.

On a previous visit, Alma had confided that she would never marry because she was of a different persuasion. They appreciated her candor, aware that society frowned on non-heterosexuals. They
asked her what possessed her to disclose her sexual preference to them. She casually explained that she could see that David and Mista were open minded and accepted people's personal choices. David responded that the day would come when society would change its norms, but he knew Alma would remain in the closet until that time. Hiding her sexuality, she pointed out, was actually necessary to avoid bodily harm by vindictive people.

Mista's love affair with the lasagna was an ongoing romance. For David, he favored variety. He selected grilled shrimp encased in artichokes, artistically surrounded by linguine in a lobster sauce, augmented by a side dish containing a heaping portion of sautéed spinach, lightly buttered.

As they were beginning to sip their martinis, David hoped that he could figure out a way to help Mista cope, since she had undergone one traumatic setback after the other. She actually took the lead, unexpectedly choosing a path never before explored during their years together.

"Honey, I know you want to avoid serious talk primarily for my benefit, since I just went through hell. Please excuse me, but I must tell you what started going through my mind in the hospital. I guess Aunt Jean's passing away has opened up my eyes to the future ahead, and at the same time, to the past and our life together."

"Hey! I can see that your mind was working overtime in the hospital. Is our relationship about to take center stage?"
"I'm sorry. David, I'm worried. I think I'm going to frighten you." Mista held her drink up to the light, saw that there was a decent portion remaining, but didn't bother sipping; she gulped it down as she would her morning orange juice. She signaled to the waiter and pointed to the empty glass. Returning her gaze to David, she immediately could see how her remarks had affected him. His lips were so tight that they appeared sewed together. She did not waver. "I haven't figured it all out, but I think it important that you know that I have taken a good look at myself. I'm beginning to believe that I married you under false pretenses."

That last statement did it. David's underpinnings collapsed, as if the earth had quaked. "Mista, stop this! What are you saying? Look, you've been through a lot recently. Now is not the time for self-examination."

Surprisingly, she remained steadfast. "Please. I don't want you to be upset with me. I have something to say that means a lot to me, to us. Please let me go on."

David sat back, shaking his head. He was in the presence of a new Mista. He didn't know what to make of it. With resignation in his voice, he said, "Go on, if you must. I hope you realize what you're saying."

"David, because I love you, I must go on; I must say it. The Mista that you met and fell in love with and then married was not the real me. Believe me, I fell in love with you hard, and I still love you as much as ever. When we began dating, the more I got to know you, I
found that I couldn't control myself. I wanted you desperately. I swear, I would have sacrificed my soul for you. Now, looking back, I see that I wanted some other things that you provided. You provided me with security, and more than that, you gave me prestige, a standing in the community. With you at my side, I gained confidence and began to mingle with more interesting people. To be perfectly honest, my dear love, I was caught in a swirl, completely unaware of the contradiction I was living."

She began to dab at her eyes with her napkin. Tears by now were no longer unexpected; they had become a large part of her life lately. "I am so sorry. For the first time in my life, I now see that I took on more than I can handle. I don't know whether I was fooling myself, or fooling you, or being just plain dishonest. I do know now, for the first time, that my ambitions carried me far beyond my abilities or certainly beyond my comfort level."

David looked at her thoughtfully. With steeled composure, he said, "Don't you think that having gone through, not only Aunt Jean's loss, but the whole hospital thing, including the abortion, may have had an effect upon you? Let's cool it tonight. I heard what you just said. I'm not sure it's true; I just hope that your judgment hasn't become clouded."

"That's fine," she said. "In a few days, I would like to go on. It's painful, but I must. I know that I disappoint you. I know that I disappoint myself. Please understand I love you. I love the children. I love the house we live in. Yet I have a 'but' to add to all that."
"Now it's my turn," said David. "To be perfectly frank, I'm feeling kind of low myself. I had meant for weeks now to go visit Aunt Jean with you. I let business, some lame excuses, and heaps of procrastination get in the way. I regret that I did not get a chance to see her. I know it wouldn't have changed anything, but I just wanted you to know. She was a dear, dear lady. I know how much she meant to you. I know that you two did many things together while you were growing up, with one exception." He began to smile. "I think that you taught yourself how to climb trees."

Mista smiled for the first time. "You know, you and I have gone on a few ski trips together with the children. If I say so myself, I naturally took to the sport. You, dear one, my muscle man, throw your body into the turns with your arms instead of guiding the movements with finesse."

"I yield to your boasting. Hell, the only time that I can whip your butt is when we play tennis."

"Give me a little more time, if the children will allow me, and I think I can catch up with you."

The remainder of the evening continued in light fashion, but David now wondered about some of her deepest thoughts. Her admission that she had forced herself to like his lifestyle and his friends caused him consternation. He wondered where they were headed, now that she had taken giant steps into self-awareness. He didn't think that she liked what she saw.
THE VENGEFUL UNHINGED

REVENGE UNFURLED

On hand to greet Victor, Lyle, and David as they exited the ramp leading into the airport were the personal assistants of their Japanese hosts. "Gentlemen, allow me to introduce myself. I am Yoko Yoshida, Mr. Hamada's assistant, and this is Dai Hashimoto, personal assistant to Hiroshi Sato." The two assistants, their muscular frames easily noticeable within two custom-made navy-blue suits, were obviously bodyguards, but the three arrivals accepted the polite reference that they were assistants. The aides bowed their heads graciously. No handshakes were offered or made. "Please give me your luggage tags, and we will arrange to pick your items up at the baggage depot and place them in the automobile that is circling the airport to transport you to the MGM Grand Hotel."

Lyle smiled. "This certainly is a nice courtesy. Mr. Hamada is very professional."

"It is now one thirty; once you are comfortably checked in, we have reserved a meeting room at the hotel. Mr. Hamada and Mr. Sato are waiting for you in the lobby, along with their business associate, Mason Grewe."

David blanched at the mention of Mason's name. Stunned, departing from his usual decorum, he abruptly asked, "Did I hear you say Mason Grewe?"
"That is correct, sir. I believe he, too, will be on hand in the lobby to greet you."

"I see." Recognizing that he needed alone time with Victor and Lyle, David said, "Yoko, would you and your associate be so kind as to meet us in the baggage area? We will be there shortly." David handed over his claim tags for the luggage, as did Victor and Lyle.

The two assistants accepted the tags, bowed their heads, and departed down the long aisleway.

David turned to Victor and Lyle. "I have something to tell you. I hope it won't mess up the negotiations." He motioned to an isolated seating area in the airport coffee shop. "Let's sit over there for a minute or two. We don't have to order anything. I just want to tell you both something that is totally unexpected, but now has to be seriously considered."

"Lead the way," Victor said rather crisply, somewhat perturbed by the sudden interruption in their plans.

As they sat down, David said, "Well, I'm glad the lunch hour is over so we have some privacy." He slowly shook his head in bewilderment. "I have something to tell you that is unbelievable."

"How's that?" Victor asked. "Let's make it fast. I don't want to keep anybody waiting."

"I know Mason Grewe. In fact, he used to live in Tucson. I haven't seen him in ten years, but I'm sure he's antagonistic toward me."
Continuing to take the lead, Victor leaned forward in his chair. "That will require some explanation."

"I'll give it to you short and fast. Mason Grewe is a disbarred lawyer. I was the lawyer that filed the complaint and initiated the proceedings against him. The matter eventually wound its way before the Supreme Court of Arizona, and they rendered a judgment prohibiting him from the practice of law. I had heard that he had moved to Las Vegas, but I never expected to ever run into him again. I believe he is now in the nightclub business."

"Oh my God," Lyle exclaimed. "Victor, what do we do now?"

"That's easy. We do a lot of listening. They knew David was arriving with us, so apparently, it hasn't killed the negotiations, or at least, not yet. It may mean that Mr. Grewe will drive too hard a bargain, and if so, we may limp back to Arizona, wondering what to do next."

"There is one significant fact that may work to our advantage. I doubt very much if Mason has told Mr. Hamada or Mr. Sato that he was once disbarred in Arizona; he probably prefers that it not be disclosed. If so, that gives us some leverage."

Victor arose. "Good thinking, David. We'll keep that in mind. We can't wait any longer. Let's go down, say nothing, and play the role of a good guest. When we get to the hotel, Lyle and I will play dumb and leave it up to you, David, how you want to handle seeing Mason Grewe again."
As they approached the baggage area, Yoko ushered them outside, as a limousine was turning into the temporary parking area. "Your luggage is outside, and we will place them in the rear trunk," said Yoko. All five of them comfortably settled within the limousine, and Yoko instructed the driver to proceed to the hotel.

Upon their arrival the doorman opened the door and welcomed them. As they entered the lobby, Aiko spied Lyle and walked up with his hand outstretched. "Lyle, so good to see you again. I trust your plane trip was pleasant. Allow me to introduce you to my friends." He extended an open palm in the direction of the two approaching men, both short in stature.

David noticed Mason immediately. He decided to hang back and let Victor and Lyle initiate the introductions. Eventually, he shook hands with Aiko Hamada and Hiroshi Sato, and glanced sideways at Mason. No hand was extended. "Hello, Mason. It's been quite some time."

Mason barely managed to say, "Hello."

Yoko addressed the five parties. "Gentlemen, please follow me. The meeting room is in the rear of this lobby past the gaming tables and beyond the elevators." He slowly turned, and he and Dai led the way. If the visitors had plans to first go to their rooms and freshen up, that apparently would not happen; they were getting down to business right away.
As the parties exchanged pleasantries centering upon their children, Mason and David walked on either side of the others, both silent, and each maintained distance from the other.

The meeting room was quite large, suitable for considerably more people. A round table suitable for eight people stood in the middle of the room, covered by a white tablecloth. A writing tablet with MGM-monogrammed pens had been placed at each of only four settings. Coffee, iced tea, and water were available at a nearby table abutting a wall.

The Cavalier group noted that there was seating for only four, instead of six. Aiko, in his same polite, diplomatic manner, said, "Gentlemen, I'm sure you've noticed that there is only seating for four. Hiroshi and I do not know much about real estate, and we feel that we would be of no value to your discussions. We will take our leave. We have reviewed this entire matter over with Mason, and we have arrived at an understanding between ourselves. He will carry on the business discussions with you. We look forward to joining you for dinner when you conclude for the day. Please take your time; we are flexible and can meet you on short notice. Yoko and Dai will remain outside and see that there are no interruptions. They await any instructions that you wish to give."

Hiroshi then added, "I'm so very glad and honored that we have been granted this privilege. We hear so much about Arizona, and we look forward to working out a long and very successful venture with
you. We know of your reputation and your experience. I thank you kindly for this opportunity."

Before anyone else could react, Mason sat down. Without fanfare, rather harshly, he said, "Please sit down. I want to get started." Barely were they seated when he opened up with a barrage. "I'd like to get right down to business. I'm aware that money has dried up throughout the country. You need us. We are interested in doing business with you, but I'm not going to kid you: we will be tough. I'm sure that Mr. Sherwood has advised you that he has stabbed me in the back. Of course, he won't admit to that and will squirm out of it. He will act innocent and say something like, 'I only did my duty,' or some crap like that. If he thinks it was only his duty, ask him what his clients wanted to do. Ask him if they wanted the complaint filed."

Victor quickly decided the only way to deal with Mason was head on. "Mr. Grewe," he shot back, "I'm not here to discuss your past dealings with David. I don't know who was right and who was wrong, and frankly, I don't care. Either we get down to business right now, or we call it a day. I understand you have the capital that we need, and we're willing to do business with you, providing that there's something left on the table for us. If you squeeze us too much, that will do you no good, and it does us no good. Now what do you want to do?"

"Nice statement, Victor. I can see you have some guts. Thanks for clearing the air. Okay, let's get to it."
If ever Lyle was silently thankful that he had Victor for a partner, it was now. As soon as they entered the room, his stomach began bouncing around like a bunny in a field of greens. He never would've had the guts to counter Mason's aggressive remarks and go the extra step, actually equalizing their positions by meeting Mason's opening onslaught head on.

"I've reviewed your pro forma and your proposed use for twenty-five million dollars. We are interested, once we agree on performance levels that you must reach in order for installments to be released. If you achieve all your levels within a time frame that we work out, and you then need more capital, we can provide it."

Mason hesitated before he went on. The adrenaline poured through his veins; he knew he had them where he wanted. He saw three sets of eyes focused on him. He was the banker. He was the one that could save their asses. Yes, he said to himself, now is thetime for the killer statement, and let David Sherwood eat his heart out. "Your proposal provides that we supply the capital on twodifferent levels. We would be a lender and a minority partner. I'll tell you right now, that is not satisfactory. We agree to act as a lender and receive an interest rate that is below the market. Since we are being so generous as lenders, we want to own fifty percent, not a paltry twenty percent as you propose. If we don't get fifty percent, we're out. Further, we only want to deal with one person. We have selected you, Victor. That means that Girard and Sherwood must get out. For a half interest, we offer Girard two million dollars. For Sherwood, who was just getting started as a part owner in one of
your companies, we offer him a flat zero. Once he is paid all his legal fees, he is out and shall not stay on as legal counsel."

David quickly sized up the situation. He would not allow Mason's bitterness toward him to stand in the way of Victor and Lyle. He interjected, "What Mason proposes for me is acceptable. I certainly don't want to stand in the way of Victor's and Lyle's best interests. Whether the rest of what Mason proposes is acceptable is up to Victor and Lyle."

The little man with the big bark quickly glanced at David with a snide grin on his face and walked out.

Recognizing that the sudden departure was merely a ploy to deceptively show strength, David said, "That was a cheap shot. I'm sure that he was negotiating when he walked out like that. Guys, we just saw ten years of pent-up hostility unleashed. The last time I saw him, he was in a weakened position looking frightened as hell. Now he is in a strong position, but as far as I'm concerned, he's still frightened as hell, but now he puts on a good show."

"I think you're right, but we'll let the little man think that he's gained the upper hand. We still need to discuss his offer," said Victor. "I'm not very good on personality analysis. As far as I'm concerned, the man believes what he says. Gentlemen, we have a firm deal offered to us. The money is on the table."

"Since we will be getting ready for dinner soon," Lyle offered, "I think we should talk tomorrow during breakfast. Let's go get our room
keys. I need a drink. I've never met anyone who came on so strong the way he did."

David looked away with disgust. The little tyrant has reared hisugly head. That's okay, Mason; the day of your comeuppance is yet to arrive.

When they reached the front desk, they were handed one key.

Victor, now in a fighting mood, snarled, "You're mistaken, young man.

There are three of us, and we want three separate rooms."

"Your hosts, Mr. Hamada and Mr. Sato, have booked you in a penthouse suite with three bedrooms. You will find the room and the view quite magnificent. I think you will be pleased. I might add that breakfast is complementary, and we will have a chef prepare breakfast for you in your suite. What time would you like to be served?"

They agreed that nine o'clock would be satisfactory.

While Victor was dressing for dinner, thoughts meandered like little rivulets through his brain, seeking the path of least resistance. Imight end up liking this deal. Lyle really never offered much. He's a nice guy, but I don't need him. It's a shame that David must go. He's an excellent negotiator, always a step ahead, and quite a thinker. I can use him, but oh well, c'est la vie.

The evening went very nicely. The Japanese were quite friendly. Hiroshi, the more jocular of the two, could ramble at length on almost any subject. Most of the conversation focused on
geopolitics, the way the world was evolving and power was shifting as the developing countries became economically stronger. Victor especially noted that Japan in particular, spurred on by its accelerated growth in commerce, was establishing its presence in world leadership.

Throughout the meal they all noticed that Mason sat in silence. Was this another part of his gamesmanship?

The following morning, while the chef was preparing a full-course breakfast for them, Victor, Lyle, and David enjoyed their morning juice and sipped their coffee within a glass-walled breakfast nook that overlooked Las Vegas's thriving Strip. They were astonished at the abundance of glitter still on display while the sun shone brightly. Signs, some gigantic in size, sought the passer's attention, and all had the same message: spend, spend, spend. Victor was becoming impatient; he could play tourist for only a short time. In his usual brusque manner, he bore down on Lyle. "I know that you thought your half interest in the company was worth close to five million dollars. They're demanding that you take a big hit. We're screwed; if we don't get the financing from them, we may end up with a bunch of goose eggs."

Victor and David looked in Lyle's direction. They all were aware that the key decision was his. If he didn't agree to take Mason's lowball offer, they would be packing their bags and heading home empty handed. "I talked to Karen last night. My interest is worth more than two million dollars, but that's when times are good and
valuations are high. We decided to accept the reality of the situation. I'm going to see if I can squeeze another five hundred thousand out of them. I won't let you all down. If I can't get more, I'm letting you all know now, Karen and I will take the two million."

Victor turned to David. "It was generous of you to agree to take nothing and get out. If we can get that Section Eight program started, you could make a nice bundle as a partner."

"That's only true if we can get the program off and running. Right now it's stalled. As Lyle said, we have to face the reality of the situation. I'll tell you what really hurts. I'm going to lose Cavalier as a client with tremendous growth on the horizon. Of course, I won't let the little Hitler know that. I see now that he's been waiting to get even with me for a long time. If that's what turns him on, so be it."

"Gentlemen, that puts some of the loose ends between us to bed. Lyle, we'll sit back and see if you can squeeze an additional five hundred thousand out of Mason. If you two come to terms, I'll negotiate the setup for the new corporate structure. There is much more to discuss, such as my salary, my duties, and my authority. I'm sure, David, you will fill in many of the remaining blanks.

"Lyle, you have been a good partner," said Victor. "We have been together for a long time. You'll get your money and get out, while I stay in and put up with the twerp. What probably makes it tolerable is that he needs me to run the company, and he's miles away. So I pretty much can run things my way. I'm sure that so long as I show results, I won't have a problem."
"I guess that satisfies that," said Lyle. "Victor, I'm confident that you'll put things to bed with Mason this afternoon, once I come to terms on a price with him. It may be better if I do not sit in after that. David, I guess you'll have to stick it out, because no doubt you will add to the negotiations. Incidentally, did either of you notice that Mason said little at dinner last night? I'll bet that when he's alone with his Japanese friends, he's an entirely different person. I think he's playing poker with us, staying cold, hard, without blinking his eyes." Silently Victor and David acknowledged that they had come to the same conclusion.

At the meeting that afternoon, Victor greeted Mason, who was already seated, the same way that Mason had opened up yesterday. "The first order of business is for you and Lyle to come to terms. If you do so, we can move on. If you don't, we all walk away and call it a day."

"Mason, I'll make it fast. Two million dollars is too low. My interest is worth a lot more. I will accept two point five million. You'll still be making a very good deal. You also will have one of the best managers in the country, Victor Kane, running Cavalier for you. He'll make a fortune for you."

Mason turned to David. "Anything you wish to add?"

"I will expect to be paid for the legal services I render to handle this transaction. Other than that, I don't have anything to add."

"I'm not going to diddle around," Mason said in his usual no-nonsense voice. "Lyle, you'll get your money. It's a deal at two point
five million." Mason could no longer conceal what he had accomplished; he broke out in a sly smile. The masquerade was over. Although he didn't bring David Sherwood down to where he would be destroyed, he had dealt him what a boxer would term a body blow. "My American friends and my Japanese friends will be very happy." He prided himself; that was the first time he was able to show his negotiation skills to Gino and Pappy, as well as his Japanese partners.

Mason continued, "Victor, we have a lot of confidence in you. Your track record speaks for itself. We have some loose irons remaining to work out between us. I think that it will all go smoothly. I assume that you agree that we get fifty percent."

"Agreed. You do then accept that David will continue as the attorney for this transaction so that we can expedite matters?"

"So we don't delay matters, we'll proceed in that manner. Now I want you to meet a man who has been my partner from the beginning, when I entered into the nightclub business. Pappy La Rosa is waiting down in the lobby."

"That's fine," said Victor, also feeling as if he had achieved a victory. From now on, he would be making all decisions at Cavalier with a great deal of capital behind him. He was hopeful that final negotiations would be concluded tomorrow and the drafting of the closing legal documents could be expedited.

While they were alone, Lyle asked David, "You know, I'm happy with the deal. What about you?"
"I'm okay with it. My interest was too small to worry about. My loss is the loss of the Cavalier account."

"I think that Karen and I will take a nice vacation. David, I thank you. I don't know what I'll be doing in the future, but you are still my lawyer."

"That, Lyle, will be my sincere pleasure. Care to play some blackjack?"

As they reached the lobby, they spotted Mason and Victor with a portly middle-aged man sitting together in the lobby lounge. "I see that it hasn't taken long for Victor to already chum with Mason. From the looks of things, one of them just said something funny," said David.

"Politics makes for strange bedfellows. I wonder if the relationship between Mason and Victor will last. Neither is easy to get along with," replied Lyle.

"That would be interesting. I doubt if we ever will know one way or another. I do think that if they were working together in the same city, they would be at each other's throat." Lyle nodded in agreement with David's remark.

They spied two vacant seats at a nearby blackjack table and walked over. They bet small. Gambling held no special attraction for either of them. If luck were an indication of the final outcome of the negotiations, they each won.
THE VENGEFUL UNHINGED

SIGNIFICANT EVENTS

The memorial service for Aunt Jean was a small affair. Besides the family, a handful of former students, a few fellow teachers, and some neighbors also attended. After the services, the students and teachers introduced themselves and spoke endearingly of Jean's friendship and instruction, which had played a part in their life. In particular, they expounded upon Jean's passion, her love of learning. They emphasized that she had taught them the value of studying the lives and events of the past as a gateway to the future.

David learned for the first time that Aunt Jean had been a devout Protestant and often attended Sunday services. Reverend Rylander, a middle-aged gentleman with an expressive face that spoke of giving and sacrifice, opened the tribute conducted at the funeral home with a brief welcome to the family. At considerable length, he went on to share his long friendship with Jean, her passion for knowledge, and her sacrifices to help others, especially the poor and the sick, some of which were unknown to the family.

Though Jean primarily kept to herself, he said that there were special times when they had conversed in his office. She often talked of God and what she termed the good life. He praised her respect for people and particularly singled out her niece, Mista, as the great love of her life.

The reverend then nodded to Mista and invited her to make a few remarks. Mista was composed as she slowly ascended to the
podium. Since Jean's passing, David had noticed that she had cried very little. Rather, she had withdrawn. She sank more and more within herself, becoming very quiet. She yelled less at the children and seemed more tolerant when the children failed to put their things away or made too much noise around the house. David found that their relationship had changed also; it was spawning distance like an expanding fissure. Her idea of a conversation was to politely nod her head or gesture understanding with her hands.

He decided not to interfere; he would allow her to recover at her own pace. Yet he began to think that she wasn't in need of recovering; perhaps her withdrawal had another meaning. Whatever it meant, it was a distinct reaction to Aunt Jean's passing. He was surprised that she was going to offer a eulogy, since she had spoken so little of late.

"Thank you, Reverend Rylander, for allowing me these few moments to say good-bye and pay my respects to the most important person, the person I loved most in my entire life. She served as a guide, a mentor, and a spiritual leader for me."

David could feel the heat rising in his face. The way she had phrased her love singed his feelings; it seemed hurtful, a personal rebuke. The hurt was far deeper than that caused by any harsh words they had ever exchanged with each other. Then he caught himself. What am I thinking? Haven't I already acknowledged that our marriage had become a practical arrangement at best?
Mista continued in a genteel manner, similar to the composed bearing that Aunt Jean had always portrayed. "I could write a book about the optimism, the respect for others, the love of learning, and the common decency that she instilled within me. Perhaps, above all, she inspired me to never stop, always continue on with my life's journey while learning, searching for more.

"I'm sorry to say that I haven't always lived up to those standards that she set for me. Her passing is like a call to do better, not only for myself but for others. To best express my thoughts for the most significant person I have ever met, I would like to read a personal message that I have written to this gentle lady, my Aunt Jean."

I was blessed by God to know you.

I was blessed to share so much of my life with you.

My love for you is deep within my soul.

You shall continue to live forever in my heart.

As Mista returned and sat next to him, David softly whispered, "That was very memorable, very deep." She said nothing in return.

***

When Bart was first elected to office, many scoffed at his "star" designation; this was especially true among many of his fellow colleagues and some recognized Washington insiders. In fact, many had predicted that the Golden Boy would be a one-term senator when the glamour wore off. They saw him as an empty-headed officeholder
who had rolled into office on a head of steam generated by an abundance of publicity, a flashing warm smile, boyish charm, and a tremendous amount of energy.

Reality proved otherwise. As the days became months, as the months became years, Senator Bart Langley even gained the respect of the hard-core. He displayed the fortitude, the ability to devour reams of information, and the God-given instincts necessary to persuade even the most difficult and inflexible people to moderate or change their position. Gradually, he became a leader, one who got things done and pulled differing factions together. He entered that small, heralded band of respected statesmen.

Julie was similarly admired. She served as a helpful guide to Bart during difficult deliberations, and she was a companionable assistant and mother at all times. Bart respected her intelligence and increasingly realized that she was responsible for a great deal of his success. Their early romantic love as honeymooners had gradually melted into a deeper one that renewed itself each year.

About five days after they had first spoken, Bart called David. "I think my mother's going to pull through. To tell you the truth, I had just about given up. I will be heading back to Senate life tomorrow."

"Great news, my friend. Nice of you to keep in touch. Apparently, you've been able to hold your own during some of your darkest moments."

"Isn't that the job of a politician? I'm the spreader of goodwill. I guess even when I'm stressed, I'm able to wear a smiley face."
"Excellent. Incidentally, when you settle back to your routine, we need to allocate some alone time to plan your reelection."

"I hear you loud and clear. I'll set aside an hour or two and notify you in the next few days. Best we keep my leave of absence confidential, since it would not go down well with the public."

"And your dad? Will he be coming back?"

"About the same time that I do. If you ever see him, please don't bring it up. Since he's approaching retirement, he has some things to work out with his partners. He doesn't want it known that there's been an illness in the family."

"I understand. I'm glad; all's well that ends well. Give my love to Julie. She's still my secret sweetheart."

***

When David had returned with Victor and Lyle from Las Vegas a few weeks ago, he knew there was a great deal of work ahead. The parties had agreed in principle; now he and Gordon Hayes—who, unbeknownst to David, was a lawyer associated with the same office as Gino Angelo—were undertaking to work out all the details. Copious documents had to be prepared and approved by the parties, and David was still somewhat dubious. In the back of his mind, he asked himself, Will Mason stick to the deal as the details unfold, orwill he attempt to twist them around and continue to negotiate to the very end?
Gordon and David, however, did in fact come to terms and entered into Letters of Intent, setting forth in general terms their good-faith understanding. The lawyers then embarked upon the detailed drafting of the actual documents. Multiple drafts, and then further redrafts that tested everyone's patience, together with sets of complicated escrow instructions, flowed between the lawyers like meandering waters seeking inlets. As new issues arose, they often led to further discussions to clear up ambiguities.

Since his return, it had become a daily task for David to delve into the documentation spelling out the details between Mason, Victor, Lyle, and occasionally himself. He enjoyed working with Gordon Hayes. Gordon was highly skilled and able to float above the flare-ups of Mason, and at times, Pappy.

Though the time that passed was considerable, the parties finally agreed on everything and set a closing to sign the approximate thirty documents. After that, $25 million would be delivered into escrow with accompanying instructions, which provided that the money was to be released at intervals according to agreed-upon performance levels. For his legal services, David submitted a bill for $250,000, payable to Altman, Silver, and Sherwood. Considering the magnitude of the deal, the complexities encountered, and the complicated negotiations that resulted, all parties considered it a reasonable fee.

After the closing took place, David accompanied Lyle and

Karen to the meeting at the escrow company's offices to pick up their
checks. They then adjourned for lunch to exchange pleasantries. Once they were comfortably settled, Lyle said candidly, "Although Cavalier was growing and making more money each year, Victor became more difficult. I actually started getting ill from the relationship. He was hard as nails to get along with. Good news, bad news, it didn't matter. I think he enjoyed being difficult and sometimes downright rude to me. I became the object of his tension releases. I sold my interest for less than it was worth, but I'm very happy. If I choose, I can retire modestly, still afford to send my kids to college, and spend more time with my dear wife. When I received that offer from Mason, I stayed very calm, but I was dancing a jig; and then when I was able to squeeze more out of him, I was elated. Now that I have my check, I feel energized, as if a great weight has been lifted off my shoulders."

"I've understood your difficulties for some time," said David. "I just didn't think it was my place to say anything."

"I might add," Lyle offered, "Victor respects you. Maybe the reason he didn't respect me was because he could steamroll me. I just wasn't strong enough to play his games."

Karen, quiet and unassuming, added, "I admire Lyle for sticking it out. Every day he was facing one difficulty after another with Victor. I hated it. He hated it. We were married to the money. Perhaps we're weak, but we just couldn't give up the big paycheck that Lyle drew down. We knew that if Lyle offered to sell out to Victor earlier, he would have squeezed us to the bone."
"I wouldn't sell yourself short," David mused. "Lyle, your calm composure, despite the fact that you may have inwardly suffered, was what Victor needed to deal with his frustrations. Together you two had a special chemistry. After all, something must've been going right. Look at the company that you built over the last fifteen years."

"It will be interesting to see who Victor unloads on now."

"I pity his poor wife. She may now be on the receiving end of his outbursts," said Karen.

"He may end up wishing you were back, though I'm sure his pride would never admit that," said David.

"Anyway, we have a nice check sitting in my pocket. Karen and I are now planning a two-week cruise to Europe. We hope to come back tired of seeing too many churches and eating rich foods. I'm especially looking forward to the river cruise down the Rhine. If we can keep it frozen, I'll bring you back some gelato from Italy."

"That would be a real treat. I'll buy ice cream for the kids and keep the gelato all to myself," David cheerily responded. "I would like to add one other thought. Now that I know that Mason carried a grudge all these years, I'm sure that he saw my ouster as some kind of victory. All I can say is, hail Mason, bask in your glory, and enjoy your trivial victory."

"David, you have been a friend to Lyle, and I want to thank you," Karen said. "When we get back from Europe, we would like to
entertain you and your wife. I understand she is charming and very beautiful."

There was a time that David could have easily responded enthusiastically, and said, "Mista and I look forward to seeing you both when you return." Now he could only feign interest, with no intention of socializing with them; his marriage had become too dysfunctional.

"I'm sorry to say, David, that we won't be giving you much legal business right away. Of course, I do intend to do some estate planning and set up trusts for the kids, so I will call you."

Three happy people closed out the lunch; Lyle and Karen tasted victory, and David benefited from a satisfactory result.
THE VENGEFUL UNHINGED

THE UNKINDLY END

Over two weeks had passed, and David had not heard from Bart. During the time of his mother's illness, Bart had kept in close contact. Now that he'd gone back to madcap Washington, he hadn't called as he had promised.

David felt that it was kind of strange, because the time was growing urgent to plan for his reelection. He had already talked to Cameron about gearing up, but they hadn't gotten Bart's slant on issues, power-word slogans, position statements, quotes from key individuals, or press releases for the campaign. Although Bart was a big favorite and the polls showed that he had a wide lead over his as-yet-unknown opponent, there was always uncertainty in a coming election. If the economy changed, or Bart slipped up on an emotionally charged issue, or an embarrassing personal disclosure was made public, the poll results could change quickly.

David had already placed one call, and he now placed another one to create urgency. While waiting for the call to go through, he glanced at the afternoon news and spotted the current headline, which said that Cavalier was opening up three new subdivisions. Victor sure knew how to work fast when he had big money behind him. Despite the current demand for housing, Victor had another major worry. The purchasing costs of materials and supplies were rising rapidly in reaction to the inflationary spiral. Further, materials were becoming scarce as supply firms were forced to close their
doors. Knowing that shortages would soon increase substantially, David figured that Victor would jump ahead and start stockpiling materials at today's prices, so as to withstand the inflationary price increases and maintain adequate supplies on hand.

A member of Bart's staff suddenly broke his thoughts, asking David to continue to hold as they searched for Bart, since he was out of the office. David's thoughts darted to Mista. He wondered whether she would be open to any social life at all. Her usual excuse these past few days was that she was still hurting over the loss of Aunt Jean and wasn't ready to meet people. Her denials each time grew more difficult for him to accept. Again he took them personally, a habit that was beginning to take on a life of its own. He had a growing feeling that her negativity would become a habit. Thoughts of divorce, like incestuous creepy critters, were darting across his mental landscape. Once again he would swat them away. He kept coming back to the same answer; he couldn't take a chance on losing custody of the kids and exposing them to the possibility that her parents would be involved in raising them. Life does have itscomplications. It could be so easy, but many people choose to make it difficult.

He noticed before leaving for work that morning that Mista had not gotten out of bed yet; she was still lying around undressed. Granted, she could be grieving, but he sensed that she had something else on her mind. He wondered what new thoughts were going on in her mind.
David's call to Bart never did get through. Having given up, he went about his business. Five days passed before the call from Bart came through, and by then it took David by surprise. Bart said that he was in Tucson; he sounded frantic, very hurried, and overly emotional. "David, I can't talk now. My life is in complete turmoil— shredded. When can I see you? Not in your office."

"Sure, Bart. I've been calling you. You don't sound very happy. Don't explain now. Where would you like to meet, and when?"

"Now. Right now. Do you know Hollis Webster?"

"I know of him. I've never met him. He's a divorce lawyer, supposed to be top notch."

"I'll meet you in a half hour," Bart said in a choked-up voice. "Hollis will supply us with a private office."

"Are you okay? You don't sound well."

Trembling, managing as best as he could, Bart said, "I'm not well. I'm horrible. Get over here fast."

As soon as David opened the door to Hollis's law office, the receptionist, already aware that he would be arriving, quickly said, "Please follow me." Obediently, he followed her down a long hallway until she pointed to a closed door. He opened it slowly to a pitiful sight.
"Sit down," Bart said weakly. The heaviness in his face emasculated his poster-boy image. Bart would make instant fodder for any media outlet in the country if they saw what David saw.

David sat down. He didn't speak, the situation was obviously fragile. Bart appeared ready to collapse. Something awful had happened.

"They say confessions are good for the soul; I don't believe it. As painful as it is, I will tell you everything."

David nodded, recognizing that silence at this moment was

best.

"You are my dearest friend. You thought that I've been good ever since I began running for county attorney over ten years ago. That was true until I blew it. Then I lied; I lied to you, I lied to Julie, I lied to my dad. More than ashamed, I'm disgusted with myself."

David still remained silent. His friend, formerly full of confidence, had apparently self-destructed. When he saw that Bart was searching for words, he then said, "Go on, spill it out. Let it all flow. I know it will be difficult."

"First, I fell off the wagon about a year ago. Oh, I tried to pick myself up; I did a few times, but I had reached the stage where I was overwhelmed. David, you have no idea the degree of self-control that I set for myself over the years, until the fatal tenth. From booze meetings with clients, to booze meetings with my fellow senators, wherever and whenever, booze overflows through Washington. It
seems that the Potomac is filled with alcohol. For nine years I fought the good fight, and then I fought it some more. While everyone else would get silly-ass high, I stuck to my guns and ordered club soda on ice with a lemon twist. Not one beer, not one glass of wine, absolutely no alcohol. I was Simon Pure the entire time. It got so that I hated lemons."

Bart hastily dabbed at his eyes with a tissue that he grabbed off the table. "That was only part of it. The women—glamorous celebrities, politicians' wives, even a queen from some far-off Asian country—offered to strip me down right there in my office and drain me dry. So many women have bared their breasts to me that it reached a point that I had a female member of my staff join me in all meetings with a woman."

"It truly is a fool's paradise!"

"That it is. It's also happened to some of my colleagues, but frankly, I had become the celebrity senator. The Golden Boy label followed me around like a hungry little puppy dog. Many foolish people are attracted to power and name identification. Some of the stories I heard were bigger and more fantastic than what I've just told you. Cheating goes on all the time. As I said, I remained strong. I stayed loyal to Julie. I love her and still do, dearly."

"So what happened?"

"I managed to keep things under control until the monster reared its ugly head."
"How's that?"

"It went like this: two of the most gorgeous women I've ever met, twins, Sonja and Mona, came to visit me about women's rights. They were seeking changes to some inequities in the law. I saw their point, and they invited me to a meeting with a group of women whom they worked with to discuss strategy. They were staying in a hotel where the meeting was taking place. When I arrived, I was directed to a room on the seventh floor. I assumed the hotel had some meeting rooms at a higher floor reserved for concierge services.

"Their door was slightly ajar, and as I walked up, they stepped out, opened the door wide, and before I could size up the situation, they each grabbed me by the arm and pulled me in. I could see they were wearing see-through robes. I must admit, I didn't put up a lot of resistance. They said nothing. One began taking my tie off, the other my shirt. They worked me down to nothing in seconds. They're big ladies, and they literally lifted me up with a hand under each arm and transported me into the bedroom. I must admit, heaven opened up. My body served as a dish. They began licking, one from the top down and the other from the bottom up, until they began to focus on my protrusion standing at full attention. Then they produced some Häagen-Dazs, from God knows where, and doused me in ice cream; I didn't even feel a chill. I totally lost control; by then I was on fire. While one licked, the other served me champagne like a nurse serving a patient. David, this went on for three days. Occasionally, I came up for air, forcing myself to get to the telephone, restrain my giddiness, and call you, Julie, my dad, and some staff members."
Bart broke down, sobbing uncontrollably. Between gasps for breath, he blurted out, "Then it got uglier. I began to tell one lie after another. Then I got sick. I started vomiting. It was awful, over and over again. Apparently all that drinking was too much for my body."

"What did the ladies then do?"

"The ladies said nothing. They said it was all over between us. They didn't ask for a return visit. They had no misgivings; all of a sudden, they bid me good-bye, very businesslike. They did ask me on the way out to pay the hotel bill. I did so without another thought. I went right away to a nearby motel to gain strength and get my head working again. I rested for a day, thought up more lies, and went home to Julie. She accepted my story about my mother's health, and we settled in normal life, which I appreciated more than ever. I must admit that Julie was put out that I ignored her request to visit my mother, especially because they have always been close, but I squirmed out of that. I took a secret oath, swearing off the bottle again and promising myself to be on guard from then on. Yet I found myself attracted to drink again. I even started to dream about it, and frankly, I did a little cheating, but I kept it controllable.

"Then the dam burst! My world came crashing down on me. When I had checked out at the hotel, I wasn't thinking clearly. When I reached into my wallet, I pulled out the first credit card I saw. That sunk me. It turns out, that was my personal card, and all the bills went to my home. You know what happened next? Julie, of course, opened up the statement from the credit card company and noticed
an unusual jump in expenditures. It didn't take her long to notice the hotel billings for three nights, the heavy consumption of liquor, all the charged meals, and the heavy loads of laundry."

David sat rigid in his seat watching his friend, the senator, whose campaign he had worked on for over ten years, writhe in agony. "Bart, you don't have to go on. I get the idea. I know there is more to talk about, but we can go on later if you need a breather."

"No, David, I want to download everything. Please let me go on. It's painful to keep recalling the facts, but I want you to know there is an ending to what I'm going to say, and it involves you."

"Okay, I will sit back," David said somewhat warily. "Please understand, I feel helpless. I really would like to help you. Frankly, you don't look well, but let's get on with it."

Bart buried his head in his folded arms, leaned forward on the table, and continued with his eyes closed. "When Julie found out, I was so totally overcome with embarrassment and shame that, I must admit, I thought of suicide. She was so mad at me, she wouldn't speak to me. What really tore her apart was not the drinking per se; it was the lies, the outrageous lies. She couldn't believe that I would lie about my mother's health, which scared her half to death. I forgot how close she was to my mother while in my drunken stupor. What hurt her was that I ignored her when she asked to see my mother." Bart, whose eyes had been lowered, now looked up at David; he was ashen white. Totally immersed in grief and shame, he said, "This is
madness, I hope I haven't drowned you in my story of self-destruction."

"It's called cleansing. Keep talking," David said. "Let it all come

out."

"David, I did it; I destroyed my beautiful marriage over some stupid broads, who I'll never see again, to go off on a wild three-day spree. Oh, I tried to put things back together with Julie. After she found out, I started sleeping in the guest room. If I ran into her in the house or when I came home from the office, I asked her if we could talk things over. She said no, not for the time being. A few days later, it all came to a head when she put a letter on the nightstand in the guest room. I saw it when I came home that evening."

Reaching into his inner pocket, Bart extracted the letter. "It's painful, but I'll read it to you."

Bart put on a pair of reading glasses and in a quivering voice read the letter:

Bart,

The church says to forgive and forget. I do not think that I am strong enough, nor do I wish to forget. If we were to make up, and even if you were to regain sobriety, and go one step further, enter a rehab program, I would still live in the constant fear that you would lie again and succumb to the constant temptations you face in your job. It is especially difficult for you because, as we have previously discussed, you are the celebrity senator.
That is only part of it. I can't begin to tell you how wounded I am. I loved your mother and still do. When you told me of her illness, I felt it deeply. To now find out that you lied about it has totally crushed me. It will take me a long time to get over the hurt that I have gone through.

Under the circumstances, I feel that I must proceed with a divorce immediately. I've made this decision because I think it will be the best for me and the children. They are growing older and will soon be aware of what is going on. That is not healthy for them. They must be told soon. Of course, I won't go into detail with them, other than to say we have differences.

I hope in time that we can be friends. Visitation rights will always be available. I don't want the children to lose their love for their father. I wish I could find mine, but I think it is lost forever.

Julie

"That's heavy duty. You really are taking it on the chin," David remarked sadly.

"Frankly, it was brutal. I could see the marriage was all over. I soon moved out. Through legal counsel, we first worked out visitation rights before we even settled on property rights. So I have seen the children; in fact, I have already taken them to my office, and they visited with me on the Senate floor. I arranged special seating for them in the rear."
"Whatever you need, you know I will be available, but I realize there isn't much help that I can offer right now," said David. What Bart did not know was that David was enduring similar anguish. Bart's marriage had already blown sky high; his own was on shaky ground, ready to burst.

"Okay, let's talk some practical politics." With vigor, however forced, and a composure based upon years of imposed discipline, Bart said, "I plan to go on national television and tell the world that I'm going to resign. I will leave the impression that I've decided to return to private life and let it go at that. I will then announce that I wish to nominate someone to take my seat in the Senate. Of course, I will defer to the governor of Arizona to make the final decision, but the person that I have in mind, and will so announce..." Bart looked squarely at David. He found it easy to give back in return for the devotion and respect that he had received for so long. "David, you are my choice."

"Me!" David exclaimed. "My God, have you gone mad?"

"Me, mad? Not on your life. I think you will make a fine senator. David, I've had the chance to watch you in operation for many years. You are a natural-born leader; you like people, and you know how to handle adversity."

"Frankly, I'm shocked. I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything. It's not a done deal. It's customary for the governor to accept my selection, and if not, at least somebody from my party. There will be a lot of jockeying going on, so we have a lot of
work ahead of us. I've told Cameron, and he was enthused that I chose you and said he is ready to step up. There is one other thing I want you to know. I plan to ask my dad to sponsor you for membership to our country club. That's another way to give the finger to Barney. I want you to be the second Jew in the country club. You will come in as a tennis member."

"I don't think that will happen."

"Why not?"

"Think about it. The Civil Rights Act was passed over ten years ago. Since that time, the country clubs and hotels around town have opened up. Minorities, blacks, foreign nationals, and Jews have gained acceptance all over. The exception is your dad's country club. I think that Barney Stone is the one that is blackballing all Jews and maybe others."

"An interesting observation, you clever fellow, you. I'll talk to my dad about this."

"Bart, I think we have to talk more about this, but in any event, what about you? What are your plans?"

"My plans? I'm not sure I have any, except that I know that I shall now fade away, as did our esteemed old soldier, General MacArthur, when he was fired by President Truman. I guess, though it's not cut in concrete, I'll probably move out of state, maybe California, and enter an alcoholic rehab program. There are some
fine places set up like a retreat, where many leaders and celebrities choose to go to empty their pocketbooks and empty their hearts."

David looked at Bart closely. He actually looked better. The decision to step down from his torrid pace in the Senate seemed to have released some of his tension. "You've been through holy hell these past few weeks. I know that you haven't been an angel, but I'm a friend of years, and that means I'm a friend when you screw up as well as a friend during the upside."

"David, I really appreciate what you just said. It only goes to bear out what I'm about to tell you. I tell you now, I will not accept no as an answer. You are the one I want."

"Well," David half laughed. "I don't know whether to go hide behind a woman's skirts or to tear off my shirt and bare my massive chest."

"You must not turn your back on this. Selfishly, it will keep me involved in politics somewhat. Then I can enjoy politics without experiencing the pressure, which I cannot handle anymore. So I will be glad to participate in the strategy meetings that come up between you with Cam, Mark, and others."

"I feel like saying, 'Hey, pardner, let's saddle up,'" said David. "Stay loose; we still have to win over the governor."

David glanced at his watch. "You and I really need to get away and schmooze some more about this whole thing."
"You got it," said Bart. "I'm famous for my club sodas with a lemon twist. Let's go have a drink." He led the way to the receptionist's desk, stopping momentarily. "Tell Hollis I will be back tomorrow. I'll call first to find out what time he wants to meet with me." He turned to David. "Hollis is representing Julie. In addition to her Washington counsel, she has retained Hollis to attend to some of the Arizona matters."

As he got in his car after meeting Bart, David thought about his fading relationship with Mista; it was a strong negative to his running. Even if they stayed married, how would she react? Would she be supportive, or would she see it as additional pressure? Would she even show up for any public affairs? This was a dilemma. He couldn't talk to Bart about it now. Bart had too much on his mind.

When Bart chose David as his appointee to take over his seat in the Senate, David's personal scenario for the future re-opened to a whole new landscape. Thoughts begat thoughts. He was thrilled at the prospect, and yet he felt like a runner that couldn't get his feet off the starting blocks. He kept mulling over his personal life, the big hunk that would be lopped off. As much as he was thankful for the honor, he kept returning to the internal query that was circulating like windblown ping-pong balls in his head: What if my marriageimplodes? Would I be involved in a custody battle that reads like aboxing match in the public's eyes with no winners - only losers?

He decided to disclose his belabored thoughts to Bart. He knew that conceivably Bart could change his mind about the appointment,
but he had to take the chance. When he went to him, he misjudged him entirely. Bart was a seasoned veteran, and when told he adjusted easily to the unexpected possibility. David went to some length to disclose what was going on between him and Mista. When he was finished, Bart said, "Do you think any legal action for divorce could be put off for ninety days?"

"I should think so. Mista and I are not antagonistic toward each other. Actually, nothing may happen between us, but I just wanted you to know that our marriage isn't going anywhere but downward."

"Welcome to the club. We're both going to be bachelors again. Unfortunately, I won't be able to go barhopping with you. I don't think you have much to worry about. The governor will objectively say yea or nay on your appointment, if you delay any divorce action. You then have close to two years to resolve matters between you and Mista.

As a matter of fact, divorce is not uncommon among elected officials. Unless it's a bloody mess, you probably can keep it out of the newspapers."

Once Bart minimized his worries, David decided he would accept the challenge, if he received an affirmative decision from the governor; it was simply too big of an opportunity to pass up. One housekeeping issue remained. Both he and Bennett would be leaving the law partnership at about the same time. That would leave Arthur Silver, their sole remaining partner, in a lurch.

David called Bennett's secretary on the intercom to find out his whereabouts. Bennett had been leaving early and arriving late in the
morning. She said, "Mr. Altman was feeling run down and kind of dizzy, so his wife came to the office and picked him up." David called Bennett's home; he would find out how Bennett was feeling and talk things over about the situation.

Bennett greeted him in his usual feisty manner, his way of being friendly and humorous. "You didn't just call me to ask how I was feeling. What's on your mind?"

"I've got a shocker for you," David replied.

"Shocker, huh? I'm shocked each day to find out I'm still alive."

"Well, since you're still hanging around, I may as well give you something newsy to chew on. What do you think of the idea of my becoming a United States senator?"

"What? Don't josh with me. I've lost my sense of humor."

"I mean the real thing. You know, political intrigue, partisan clashes, and all that good stuff."

"Okay, I'll bite. What's it all about?"

"Bart is going to resign from the Senate and wants to appoint me. Please don't laugh. Of course, as you know, there's the possibility that the governor could choose somebody else. What Bart and I have going for us is tradition. The general practice has been that the governor accepts the officeholder's selection. Can you believe it? He chose me!"
"That is a shocker. I'm happy for you, but saddened. Bart proved to be a very capable senator. I respect him for what he has done."

"I do too. I tried to talk him out of it, but he's going through a bad situation right now personally, so I have to ride along with his decision."

"So, you may virtually overnight become a public figure. You'll be dancing on the big stage. You were wise to come to me first. As you know Arthur will need assistance. We have to locate two experienced practitioners to carry on. Better yet, it may be wise to merge with an existing firm."

"I bow to your wise counsel," said David.

"While my mind is still functioning, let me think about it. I'll have Ruth remind me from time to time about it so that I don't let it slip through the cracks."

"That's fine, Bennett. I'll sit still on it until I hear from you."

"That's okay," he said, "but keep after me. Don't let me put it off too long."

***

The next day Bart reaffirmed with David that he would run. "You made a wise decision. I will be much more at ease, if you get the appointment."

"I'm smitten already," said David.
"Okay, I'll call the governor and make an appointment for the two of us to meet with him. I won't ask him for his approval, it's too early, but I will tell him that I'm going to make a public announcement to nominate you. I'm also going to arrange a meeting with our group of leaders, which has now increased to close to thirty."

"It's going to be quite a surprise when you tell them. How the hell are you going to go about it?"

"With some difficulty. They will want to know why I'm stepping down. Since I'm not going to tell them of my tendency to go on an alcoholic high, nor about my coping difficulties, I'll have to emphasize, and then reemphasize, that I think it's time for me to return to private life. When asked, I'll say that my options are open about what I want to do in the future. I may start a new career, or I may retire altogether. Of course, I could mention a third alternative, that I make millions more and sign on as a political lobbyist."

"I don't think you want to mention the third alternative."

"No, I don't think so," he said laughingly. "What I will do is stick to the script. When we meet with the governor, I'll discuss a few common issues and add that it is with deep regret that I have decided the time has come to pass the baton to you. Then I'll jump on your bandwagon and point out that I will be leaving the office in very capable hands."

"Okay, I'll let you take the lead and work off your cues when we meet."
"Incidentally, when we meet with our group, I feel that we had best invite Barney Stone, since he had a big hand in organizing the group even though he never officially became a member of it," said Bart.

"Are you sure that he is still a supporter of yours and hasn't jumped ship?"

"No, I'm not sure. I'll play the game and go along and see what happens with him."

"One thing we do know is that Barney Stone is no fan of mine. Tell you what. I'll make my first command decision. Do not invite him," said David.

"Well, it didn't take long for you to become the boss."

"Let me put it this way. If I were already in office, I might be in favor of inviting Barney to a planning session. It gets back to ole Abe Lincoln. He was famous for his appointments of political enemies as a good way to keep tabs on them, but he was already in office. Right now, not knowing if he plans to run somebody against me, and since I have no control over him, I think it best that we maintain our distance from him."

"Good thinking. Any other suggestions?"

"Now that you ask..." David smiled. "I do have one other thought. I think timing is very important. I think we should hold off on the meeting with the leadership group until we meet with the governor. Then I would suggest that we explain to him that we will be
setting up the meeting with them, because the election time is short, but we will not do any campaigning until he decides on the appointment."

Bart nodded his approval. Already, my selection is talking like awinner.
THE VENGEFUL UNHINGED

LED UP AND LET DOWN

Despite his waning strength, once they whittled the list of law firms interested in merging down to one, Bennett agreed to participate in joining the negotiations. The timing was right for the law firm of Covington and Slawson, who were thinking of enlarging their firm. Their enthusiasm grew when they considered the idea of relocating to the converted offices in Snob Hollow occupied by Bennett, David, and Arthur.

Extensive negotiations then occurred. The firms had to decide upon valuations, percentages, retirement plans, and a multitude of other details. It took some time, but the parties managed to reach an agreement on almost everything. A sole discussion point remained: the partnership name. David argued strenuously that all five names, Altman, Silver, and Sherwood, together with Covington and Slawson, would be used, except that Covington would be placed second, behind Altman.

Frank Covington, highly respected among his peers, tall, silver haired, a gentleman with an angular face that commanded attention, offered a new firm name that the others had not anticipated. He first apologized to Bennett and then launched into his reasoning. He said that once David became a senator, the firm name should be Sherwood, Covington, Slawson, and Silver, dropping the name of Altman.
David noticed a ton of hurt on Bennett's face. Though wounded, Bennett, true to his natural inclination to be realistic, openly declared, "Gentlemen, I have as much vainglory as you all do, but since I'm fading from the scene, I'll be satisfied with a picture on the wall to acknowledge that I'm one of the founders of the firm."

David, still firm in his belief, said, "Bennett, you were the prime mover, the one who really got our firm started. It's not right that your name be discarded."

Arthur jumped in. "I also agree."

"I recognize your concern, fellas, but five names on the door are too many, especially for a growing firm that in time will add additional partners. I often wonder about the concern of so many who want to leave a legacy. You find it so true, among business and political leaders, they dwell upon their legend before they depart for the great beyond. Hell, when they are looking down upon us from some lofty site in the clouds, I doubt if they'll give a damn." He looked at David, and in his mischievous style, he coyly remarked, "David, you're the youngest in the room, and now you're the first on the door."

If anything bothered David, it was undeserved attention. "Thanks, Bennett, but between us, let's be honest. The fact that I may become a senator is due to a stroke of luck. In a million years, I never would have guessed that Bart would step down as our senator, nor that he would ask me to serve in his place."
Frank Covington was the first to reply. "David, I'm just getting to know you, and I don't know Bart at all, but I'm sure Bart chose you on the merits."

Bennett affirmed briskly with humorous undertones that spoke of their many years of warm association. "And I know he's meritorious; he stuck it out with me for many years."

"Well, I hope I can stick it out with all the arm twisting that goes on in Washington."

Arthur added, "Just think of your worst clients, who you represented out of duty and secretly resented. Then you'll have a jolly good time in Washington."

From that banter emerged a new partnership with an expected United States senator listed first on its masthead with the caveat that if David was unfortunate and someone else was appointed, they would reconvene on the subject. The firm of Altman, Silver, and Sherwood would further change: it would no longer be a Jewish law firm.

***

When David came home that evening, Mista, surprisingly, was on hand to greet him as he entered the kitchen. She was bright and cheery, which was so unlike her since the passing of Aunt Jean and the trauma that she had undergone. He wondered, Is she finallycoming around? Has she lifted her veil of induced seclusion?
"The kids are not home. I called your parents and asked if they would take them overnight. As you know, I've been lost in thought for weeks. I finally understand what it is on my mind. Roberta prepared dinner for just the two of us, which will give us a chance to talk."

"Hey, just a chance to talk to you will be refreshing. I don't mind a little serious talk, but let's do it as friends, and maybe, as I used to think, as lovers. I'll see you in the dining room after I freshen up."

When he entered the dining room, his curiosity was piqued. The lights had been dimmed, accentuated by two large candelabras that stood on the table on opposite sides of a centerpiece, which displayed a colorful array of flowers. The table was set with their chinaware, normally reserved for guests, on a new tablecloth with a faded gold pattern spread over a pale-blue background. His first thought was, Has Mista decided to try to rebuild our relationship? Isshe coming out of her shell? This should be a very interesting dinner. Maybe I'll fall in love with her all over again. He noticed that theirdinner waited in warmers on an adjacent buffet table.

As she arose, he joined her, and they each began to fill their plates.

She chuckled. "It's good to do something side-by-side with

you."

"Is this my wife I'm talking to? My God, you haven't thrown a bouquet my way in a long time."
She began laughing. "When you make up your mind, suddenly the world looks different. It feels good. I've let myself out of jail. Honey, I've always been willing to throw bouquets your way. It's just that I've been too miserable to do so."

As they sat down, David said, "I'm a listener. I'm dying to know what decisions you've made." Though he encouraged her, it suddenly occurred to him that something ominous may occur. He sensed that Mista's good-natured approach was a façade. This may be her time to unload.

"I have done a lot of thinking, and a lot of brooding, since Aunt Jean passed away. It finally dawned on me, what I'm really made of and should be doing. I have discovered the real me." She looked across the table and saw question marks written all over his face; she could tell he was tense. "I have made some major decisions, but before I tell you, I want you to know that I love you very dearly, more than when we first met. What I'm about to say tonight does not mean that my love has lessened. In fact, I think it will only get stronger."

"That was quite an introduction. I think I'm starting to feel defensive. Go on; I'm all ears."

"David, I can't believe what I'm about to say. When I first started thinking about it, I couldn't believe what was running through my mind. You know where I come from—from the bottom levels of society. I had none of the comforts that I now enjoy since I've married you. I was raised by parents with a limited education, and when it came to the ways of the world, they were at a complete loss. I never
knew how the country ran. I had no ambition. I wasn't even aware of the middle or upper classes. I only knew there were the rich and the poor. My closest classmates were raised the same way; we didn't know enough to ask questions.

"When Aunt Jean started to invite me over, my life slowly began to change. The stories that she told me about the history of our country, and then sometimes the world, about outstanding women, such as Florence Nightingale, caught my imagination."

David listened intently, daring not to interfere, though much of it was a playback of what he already knew.

"New pictures opened before me. I became aware of the world around us. I found out about Christopher Columbus before I got into high school. Aunt Jean was so interesting that I began to feast on her words. For the first time, I started asking questions about the moon and the stars, and other subjects I never thought about before. She even told me about sex. When I was about to go to high school, she went so far as to draw a diagram of a penis and told me how it works. She explained it so matter-of-factly that it was not even embarrassing."

David began to grow impatient. "Mista, sweetheart, I don't mean to interrupt you, but I know all about your background. We've discussed it before, and the few things you didn't tell me, I was able to piece together."

"I promise that I won't make this a long story. It's just that I'm leading up to something."
"That's what I'm trying to figure out," said David. "I must admit I'm stumped."

"All right, here's what it all means." She took a deep breath.

He began to feel uneasy. There was something about her that was saying, I want to run away. I want to hide out. I'm a clone of AuntJean. All of this registered as fear to David.

"I feel as if I'm being drawn backward. I feel it from my folks, and most of all I feel it from Aunt Jean. It's the strangest thing. It's taken me some time, but I think I now know that the ambitious lifestyle that I have with you, which I thought I wanted so desperately, is not for me."

"That's mighty strange." David still couldn't quite figure out what Mista was trying to say, but feelings of hurt, of failure, of broken love began to deposit residues of sorrow and pain; he felt like crying.

Mista, beautiful Mista, who had graced his life, who fit in so well with his friends and his folks, and who had shared with him community events and travels to far-off places, had been, as he now understood it, a sham. He noticed that she was wiping away tears.

In a voice that spoke of disappointment, she went on. "You gave me so much. You gave me security; you gave me the opportunity to meet enlightened people, interesting people, the rich, the artistic, and the prominent. For years I felt like I was riding on a cloud. I now realize that I was putting on a big act. I finally woke up. I have not been honest with myself or with you."
She raced over from her seat and began to pepper his face with kisses. Her tears now flowed continuously... Kneeling before him, half pleading, she said, "Oh, David, I'm so ashamed. I do love you. I will never love anyone else. Yet I can't go on living your lifestyle. I'm not cut out for it. I'm a fraud. I've put on a false front all these years. In truth, I have always been intimidated by my new girlfriends, for years. They're very lovely people, but they intimidate me. They have had more of everything, they have traveled more often to distant places, they have more jewelry, they have more knowledge about so many more things, and they know more people, and on and on. Often I hid my feelings of inferiority by faking appreciation, by faking knowledge that they took for granted. They have that quiet confidence of feeling good about themselves that comes from a background of wealth and education. For years I have been insecure when I was in their presence."

David arose, and they cradled each other. "They say that honest confessions are good for the soul. What you have said is so deep, so honest. I have never heard or seen anyone face up to their true self as you just have."

Whispering in his ear, while holding him desperately, she continued to pour her heart out. "What finally awakened me was raising the kids. I learned that I'm not cut out to be a mother. I'm unfit. I'm doing them more harm than good. I can't stand it anymore." She broke out in a shriek of pain, sobbing uncontrollably.
David held her firmly. "Let's stop for now," he said in the softest of voices. "There is plenty of time to talk more."

Mista drove her nails into David's back, fighting for control. As well as she could speak, still terribly choked up, she said, "No, I must go on. I've never loved you more than I do right now. Please let me continue."

"I'm so moved" he said, laden with a mixture of feelings, wounds, and confusion coursing through his body.

She broke from his arms, sped to the other side of the room, braced herself against the wall, and then turned. "David, I'm pleading with you. Please set me free. I now know that I can't go on living a lie. I must leave you. You're the man I love, but I must leave you. I must also leave the children, who I adore. I now know my destiny. The only answer for me is to live the life of Aunt Jean. I shall become a teacher, help to develop the minds of youngsters growing up, and live alone with my books. Maybe I'll do some writing."

"Sounds like you've made up your mind. Can it keep for a day or two to see if you still feel the same way?"

"I won't totally leave you all behind. I still plan on seeing you and the kids once or twice a year. I'll be a model mother then. You must divorce me. It makes no sense for you to be saddled with me. I would be a major liability to you in the life you want to lead."

David walked up to her and extended his hand. Quietly he said, "Let's go sit in the living room, settle down, and talk this through."
She obediently followed him. She sat down on the sofa beside a photo of their three children on the end table. As he often did when he had a serious conversation with her, David pulled up a chair and sat across from her; their knees were practically touching. They were on high boil, their chemistry intense. They both knew that they were compelled to share their bodies; there was no denying the fire within that had edged throughout the far corners of their being. They also knew they would be going their separate ways.

Despite the shock, the wretched feelings he had, and facing the reality that they would be getting divorced, David experienced a strange kind of tranquility. What he thought he would never have, would also become a reality. He would obtain custody of the children without a tussle, without a fight in court. He was assured that the children would not be exposed to any great degree to the way of life of Mista's parents. He quietly acknowledged, I feel blessed. I know itwill be a big responsibility raising the kids as a single parent, but no price is too big to pay. There is no greater love.

In the next few days, Mista's and David's love deepened to the level first experienced on their honeymoon. Although their feelings were born of dissolution, they knew that they would always love each other, even if one or the other remarried or experienced other dalliances.

Practical issues fell into place nicely. She willingly agreed to David's permanent custody of the children. Financially all she wanted was an income for three years and additional funds for tuition,
schoolbooks, travel expenses to an out-of-state location, insurance, and moving expenses. Besides personal belongings and her car, all other property holdings, including their home, she agreed to deed to David.

She planned to go to Telluride, Colorado, where she could teach in a small, quaint setting and ski during the season. She loved the vintage housing at the base of the ski mountain, where they had visited more than once on family outings. David agreed that it would be an ideal spot for the kids to visit her and was happy that it was reasonably close to Tucson. She made it clear that David would always be welcome to join them.

Words continued to flow; never before had they so explicitly expressed their adoration for each other. Wells of emotion, normally reserved for forgiveness rather than elation, engulfed them. Perhaps it was because they were parting, that they drew closer, intertwined, their personalities became enmeshed as if one.

David allowed her alone time with the children; she explained that she would be leaving. She told them of her love and her respect for their dad. She let it be known that her heart was broken, yet she felt that she had to move on. The kids, even Amber, their rebellious child, broke down; and Mista shared her tears with them. She also apologized for leaving and told them that she looked forward to seeing them during their ski visits or camping and fishing trips in the summer.
When David told her about his possible appointment to the Senate, Mista was absolutely thrilled. "Oh, how I wish I could join you, it sounds so exciting, but I shall always be there in spirit, encouraging you on."

Mista agreed without hesitation to delay divorce proceedings until the governor confirmed his appointment. They did proceed to have their property rights reduced to writing, prepared by separate legal counsel. David was relieved. Yet he had mixed feelings. In one sense, he was happy, but he also regretted the loss of Mista. It was strange; he learned something new that had never entered his mind before. You can love someone but no longer be able to live with that person. Yet he did overcome what he had believed would have been a major obstacle. He began to tease his inner feelings now that it was confirmed that he would have custody. Okay big shot. Go out andraise three kids, and while you're at it, don't forget to run for the US Senate.

Thus it was so; David and Mista would have their forever moments etched in the memory of their abiding love, as they would spend the rest of their lives proceeding along paths that veered off in separate directions.
THE VENGEFUL UNHINGED

DELIVERING THE KNOCKOUT PUNCH

"Congratulations, Victor; Pappy and I just received your quarterly report, and we've noticed that you're ahead of projections. Keep that up, and you'll be receiving bonuses sooner than expected."

"Thanks, Mason. It's always nice to hear from a partner that you're happy. I'm glad you called; there is one thing to talk about. You're running behind. Your next infusion of capital was to be released from escrow two weeks ago. The escrow company called me. I need that capital in order to continue our expansion plans, and I understand that you haven't signed off yet."

"I'm glad you brought that up, Victor. Pappy and I have decided that since you're doing so well, you can afford to increase our share of the profits. We're not happy with our percentage, which we have to share with our Japanese partners. We want to own a third of the company."

Mason's statement hit Victor like a bombshell. He wasn't used to being chiseled. As far as he was concerned, the harmony between them had just disintegrated. He felt heat rising. "Mason," he said in a commanding voice, "we have a deal in writing. I plan on sticking to every word of it. Let me be very clear. I don't like renegotiations."

"So we have a fighter on our hands, do we? We'll find out fast who does the talking, the money or the words," Mason snapped back. "Don't get smart with me. When you talk to me like that, I shut down.
You want more money? Try and get it. If you're looking for a lawsuit, let me know, and we'll tie you up in court for the next ten years."

Victor could see that coming on strong would not work. Lyle had been a pushover. This slimy bastard was hard as nails. "How do I know, if I were to agree to a reduction, you wouldn't chisel me again later on? Tell you what: you want a higher percentage, I want more protection."

"Yeah, what does that mean?"

"You know what I mean: protection. Protection is like insurance."

"So what are you saying? I should buy life insurance on your life for you?"

"No, I don't mean life insurance protection. I mean if you want one-third of the company, then I want you to release all the capital right now. I don't mean keep it in escrow. I mean that the money goes into the company right now. I know enough not to cheat you. I also want to change the performance levels. You want more ownership; I want more compensation."

"Why don't you spell out in writing what you have in mind? I'll take it up with Pappy. Be sure and mention in your letter that if we agree, we get a third; the foreign investors can remain at twenty-five percent." Mason hesitated for a minute and then said, "Oh yeah, one other thing. When we come down to visit, I want to see a smile on your face."
Victor hung up without saying another word.

Mason smiled to himself. He was getting what he wanted. Pappy would be happy. He was happy. When he told Ronnie, she would be happy.

***

It was Sunday morning. Mason and Ronnie were in their office at home, huddled, as they pored over columns of numbers. Mason's elevated chair was raised to its highest level, but Ronnie still towered over him. Counting their money, being aware of its rapid growth, was one of their shared pleasures. Their only concern was that, according to Pappy, they were under strict orders from Gino not to spend or invest any funds over and above household expenses, and they had to make sure that all their vacations were modest.

Pappy had reported that they would wait five more years. "We will then shut down the Desert Club and ask our international clientele to withdraw their money from our vaults."

"What happens to our partnership?" Mason had asked.

"We'll still have two Moon Glows," Pappy had said. "After we shut down, we'll concentrate on investing the funds in a series of multilayered ownerships, mostly in real estate transactions in Europe and Asia. When we travel abroad, we will then withdraw our share of the funds."

Ronnie said, "Darling, even with all the restrictions, we should have five million dollars in US banks after taxes, sitting in certificates
of deposits all over the country. Since the country is undergoing runaway inflation, those accounts are earning way above what we expected."

"Perhaps Gino's right. He doesn't want us to be too conspicuous. I know that you keep track of the unreported income we send overseas, but Gino is in charge of those funds. We're placing a lot of faith in him, but I feel confident that we can trust him," said Mason. "In fact, he's the only one I would trust like that."

"My hunch was right when I married you. I knew you would make lots and lots of money."

"I was saving the best news yet." Mason lowered a foot to the floor to stand up. He dug into his pocket. "I'll give you this letter in just a minute. It's from Victor Kane. To give you a brief rundown, Cavalier Homes is making money hand over fist. I just put the squeeze on him and reduced his share in the partnership and increased our share."

"Nicely done, my little tyrant," said Ronnie. "You know, besides Pappy, I'm the only one allowed to speak to Gino every so often. He's very pleased with you. He says that after we shut down the Desert Club, he wants to talk to us about some other deals."

Noticing the shuffling of little feet behind them, they both turned at the same time. Lori, their eight-year-old, a beautiful, slender child who was tall for her age, asked cheerily, "Hi, Mommy; hi, Daddy. Is it true? Are we really rich?"
Mason smiled. Hugging his daughter, he said, "Sweetie, we are very rich, and you know why?"

"No, why?"

"Well, Daddy will tell you why. It's because we have you. You have made us rich."

"Oh, Daddy, I didn't mean that kind of rich."

Ronnie whisked cat hair from her daughter's hair, and in motherly tones, she answered. "We're comfortable, sweetheart. We manage to pay our bills. The main thing is that we are a happy family."

"And you know what else? Come here." Mason walked over to the sofa, which stood against the middle of their library wall. "Sit on my lap," he said.

Lori skipped over and jumped on his lap, causing him to react. "Ouch." He looked up at Ronnie and nodded his head. She knew at once what that meant. The family jewels had been disturbed. They both chuckled.

"You know why Mommy and Daddy work hard? That's so we can send you to the best schools," Mason said.

"Honey, Daddy and I were talking before you came in. You have your birthday coming up in two weeks. We're going to throw a lovely birthday party for you and invite all your friends. Also, we have something special that we want to give you, but it's the kind of thing
that we want you to see ahead of time and try it out. Is that okay with you?"

Her eyes lit up. "What is it? I don't mind seeing my birthday gift ahead of time. Can I see it today?"

"Mommy and Daddy are going to get you a bicycle; it's a special one with adjustable settings."

Lori was excited. "Let's go." She looked longingly at Ronnie. Mason knew early on that Lori adored her mother. He knew they were linked by an invisible bond. He was pleased to be part of their island; that was enough.

Ronnie looked at Mason. He nodded his head and said, "Sure, baby, let's do it. This is the best way I can spend my day off."

As they went to their bedroom to get dressed, Ronnie gazed admiringly at Mason. "I still remember when we got married. Children made you feel ill at ease. You even told me that you tensed up. You, dear husband, have made a tremendous change."

Mason looked up at his taller companion. "You have had everything to do with it. I've joined the human race."

***

The next day, when Mason arrived at his office, he was anxious to get started; he always felt that way after spending quality time with his family. Hardly had he sat down when he received a call from Barney Stone. Mason was instantly pissed off. It had been ten years
since they had last talked. At that time, he had decided that Barney Stone was selling a mixture of baloney and bullshit. Barney had promised action to shred David Sherwood, but nothing had happened.

"Good afternoon, or should I say good morning, since you operate at night-owl hours," said Barney.

"Hello, Barney," Mason said coldly, expecting very little to result from the conversation. "What can I do for you?"

"Plenty. You can help me sabotage David Sherwood big-time."

"Barney, it's been ten years. Not once have you come up with an idea to crucify David Sherwood. Why now? Why me?"

"In a nutshell, Bart Langley has resigned his Senate seat and has nominated David Sherwood to step into his shoes, which is subject to the approval of the governor, and that's where you come in."

"Yeah, I'm listening. What's the plan?"

"You have ownership in Cavalier Homes. What if you promise the governor to open up one or more large, major projects in Phoenix if he will appoint a candidate whose name I will supply? Cavalier will give the governor credit for the expansion to Phoenix. To dress it up, Cavalier would receive tax abatements and the elimination of impact fees or other savings."
"Not bad. That may be doable. So what's the major project? How much capital will it take?"

"I should have an answer for you in two days," said Barney.

"I'm looking forward to scuttling David Sherwood once and for all," Mason said. "Don't blow it."

Mason sat back in his reclining chair. He felt good about his conversation with Stone. It was something he never expected. Of course, he'd have to figure out a way for Stone to ante up. Although Stone had a good idea, Mason didn't want to let him off that easy. In fact, if Stone were to put up some big bucks, it might make it easier to get his partners to go along. Mason closed his eyes with a soft smile on his face. Although he had recently ousted David Sherwood from any relationship with Cavalier Homes, it had been only a body blow. If he could kill off David's chances of a Senate appointment, it would be a knockout punch.
THE VENGEFUL UNHINGED

WISE MEN SNOOP

David and Cam were well aware that they had to plan their strategy carefully to convince the governor to confirm the appointment. Rumors were cropping up that many were vying for the position. Barney Stone finally declared his candidate, Nigel Carmichael, a Halstead-Phillips Oil Company Vice-President, who agreed to resign from his top-level position, if he received the appointment.

Immediately, David and Cameron began to analyze Stone's interest in his candidate. There had to be a connection. They surmised that Stone needed the oil industry's support behind whatever new endeavor he had in mind. Yet it surprised them that he so blatantly made known his connection with oil interests. They could only assume that Barney had gotten his way so often that he now abandoned caution.

"I also have a nagging thought to run by you," said David.

"Only my wife is entitled to nag me. What is it?" Cam asked.

"I may be completely wrong, but I have a strange feeling that Bart was set up. I think Sonja and Mona were paid to flutter their eyes and flaunt their bodies. I'd like to know more about their background and find out if they were hired hands, and if so, who hired them. If I'm right, whoever sabotaged Bart will be out to sabotage me also."
"Ever hear of the Carlyle Agency? Carl Carlyle runs a top-notch private investigation firm in DC."

"He may be the right guy."

"Carl is a notorious snoop investigator. Hotel managers, clerks, even the chambermaids open their palms for his handouts. He pays well for underground information, which, although it cannot be used as evidence in the courtroom, is mighty effective as a bargaining tool."

"Sounds like a hell of a guy."

"Some cops, many government employees, taxi drivers—you name it, he's got 'em on his snitch list. It's uncanny; the dirt that he digs up is interspersed with gold. He is often behind many stratospheric divorce awards. If our little ladies, Sonja and Mona, were on the take, he'll find out."

"May we be so fortunate," said David.

"The only problem is, he's expensive."

"Is there a chance that we can put him on some kind of a success basis?"

"I should think he would be open to the idea. Keep in mind that his fee will jump up if he is successful," Cam said.

"I have another problem. I can't go out and raise any money. I'm not running yet."
"Let's talk to Bart," said Cam. "His campaign treasury is bulging. He's holding on to the funds to endorse candidates he supports, but he has discretion to use the money for other valid political purposes."

"That's an excellent idea," said David, "but I think there is a risk involved."

"How's that?"

"If the media gets wind of what we're doing and we learn that it was a put-up job, the episode with the two ladies will be smeared all over the media. I don't think Bart would appreciate that."

"I'll try and get Bart on the line this afternoon. Let's see what he says."

"Thanks, Cam. That helps. I wonder if Bart has thought of the possibility that he was on the receiving end of dirty tricks."

Later in the day, Cam reached Bart and added David to the conference line. "Time certainly flies; it's hard to believe that it's been over a month since we've talked. How do you like the California life?" Cam asked.

"Well, if you want to know the truth, it sucks. You don't build new friendships overnight. I was admitted to a fashionable resort for alkies a few weeks ago, and I'm going through one intense meeting after another. Granted, it's plush, but the bottom-line treatment is the same as the usual AA routine. I've admitted that I'm an alcoholic so many times that I feel like getting up at a meeting and denying it.
Probably, my little joke would start everyone drinking again. Tell you one thing. If you think I'm out of politics, I'm not so sure."

"Already you're changing your mind?"

"No, nothing like that; I'm not that silly. It's just that I keep receiving calls from Binderman, O'Leary, and Bouvier, and a few other lobbying firms. Guys, if I'm willing to work twelve to sixteen hours a day, I could make a million bucks a year easily."

"What have you been telling them?" Cam asked.

"As you know, I don't intend to take on a working schedule like that again. I'm sure that I'd go off the wagon like before. I did say that I might agree to some special assignments. Even then, I would receive substantial fees. Apparently the Fortune 500 companies pay big dollars. They have vital interests at stake that require governmental approval or protection from intrusion. When Congress satisfies their needs, it translates into huge corporate profits."

"Did you accept?"

"Not quite. I told them not to expect much travel out of me. I don't want to fall in the trap of the back-and-forth circuit like most lobbyists."

"It sounds like you may have just kissed them off," said David.

"Not at all. Every time I try to brush them off, they agree to my new demand."

"That says a lot for the weight you still have in Washington."
"As I see it, what's really in your favor," said Cam, "is that the industrial giants, the union heads, and other influence makers don't know exactly why you resigned. They see you as somebody with a lot of clout, a lot of smarts, and maneuverability through the political jungle."

"When I was holding office, the big problem that I first noticed, which has been reinforced after talking to those obsessive influence peddlers, is that there is a lobbyist group on both sides of every issue. The pressure they apply is enormous. The political parties are becoming polarized. The lobbies serve as veto groups to clamp down on one side or the other of every issue."

"Sounds like you're philosophically opposed to them. How could you work for one of them?" asked David.

"The only justification is that it may be the only way to be effective, despite the fact that they're killing off bipartisanship. I'll keep you informed when I decide what to do. Now then, tell me, what's on your mind?"

"I'm the paranoid one," said David. "I may be totally wrong, but I think those two gals, Sonja and Mona, were setups organized to trap you. I wouldn't be surprised if pictures were taken to use against you, if you had stayed in office. I'd like to find out who was behind the scheme. If I'm right, they'll come after me next."

"That would be interesting. If it's true, they sure did quite a job on me," said Bart.
"Bart, there is a potential risk if we take action and it turns out that David is right. It could lead to a leak, and if so, even though you're out of office, headlines would blare," said Cam.

"I'm not too worried about that, because if David is right, the bad guys are just as concerned about adverse publicity as I am."

"So are you giving us the go-ahead?"

"Go for it. Keep me informed. I think it's a proper use of my campaign treasury to determine if political espionage was behind my downfall. This could be better than reading a dime-store novel."

"Mighty fine. Thanks, old buddy," said David. "Incidentally, when do we see the governor? From some of the street gossip I've picked up, Barney Stone has begun working him over big-time. I think it behooves us to move quickly and line up as much support as we can."

Cam said, "Immediately after you and David meet with the governor, your dad and I want to set up an early meeting with your group of leaders."

"It will be tough explaining my withdrawal. I'm sure they'll push for underlying reasons, but so be it," replied Bart.
THE VENGEFUL UNHINGED

PLANNING FOR THE BIG DANCE

From what he had gathered from the governor's newspaper appearances, David never suspected that the man resembled a caricature of a college professor. He was modest in stature, wore tortoise-rimmed glasses, and had a soft smile. He was unlike the usual glad-hand, toothy grin that masked a politician's true feelings. Although he was wearing a suit, he gave the impression that he'd be more comfortable in a button-down sweater with a pipe in his mouth.

Cam introduced David to the governor, who said hello in a soft-spoken voice and then continued on. "You don't have to sell me. I know about your qualifications, and Bart's word carries a lot of weight with me. Come sit down, and we'll talk openly about your possible appointment."

David and Cam waited for the governor to sit in his tall-backed swivel chair and then joined him at his desk. The governor leaned forward and folded his hands. "I'm sure you are aware that you have opposition. Another candidate has been presented to me, and very frankly, some attractive offers have been made as part of the bargain. Isn't that what's called 'free will' in politics? I think it would be more appropriate if we defined free will as, 'You give; I take. I give; you take.'"

The two visitors laughed and nodded their agreement. The governor's easygoing manner, free of pretensions, put David at ease.
Cam said, "Leland, we have some trade-offs for you. We also think you should seriously examine the players involved. We know that Nigel Carmichael is seeking the appointment. To be perfectly candid, we think he can cause you a lot of grief. As an executive from an oil company, he casts a shadow over his concern for the environment. Opposition will flow from all corners. The man may deny any favoritism, but he is branded and will be unable to avoid the labeling because of his employment background. David has no baggage and fits into the Bart Langley mode. I know that you did not always see eye to eye with Bart on certain issues, but you and he had a mutual respect for each other, and on fiscal policy you and Bart more often than not agreed."

"Well, thanks, Cam. I guess it's decided," the governor said, showing his soft brand of humor.

"Darn it," David said, adding to the lightness of the conversation. "I didn't want it to be that easy. You haven't even heard our best offers yet."

"Oh, there is more?"

"David, why don't you tell him," said Cam.

"For starters," David said, "we would like to set up another meeting with you. We intend to assemble ten or more community activists from southern Arizona and a like number from northern Arizona to join us on a bipartisan basis. The purpose of that meeting will be to open doors of communication. We will follow that with a fundraiser. We have to work out the details, but we will do so very
soon and lay out the format to you. Our purpose will be to invite a cross section of people to broaden your voter base. We will ask of each invitee that they prepare a list of their five current leading issues for you to review. We are hopeful that some of those issues will leap out at you."

"That's very impressive. Quite imaginative." The governor's usually calm demeanor broke out in an expansive grin. Cam added, "We can also bring the environmentalists to the table. We believe that you will want to meet with them and hear their viewpoints. I'm sure you've met some already, but we thought it might be more effective if you met them as a cohesive group. Once again, we recognize that you will not agree with all of their priorities and that the state legislature will be even more outspoken in their opposition. It's true that their ideas are sometimes intrusive, seeking more and more regulations and increasing the size of government. However, as you discovered with Bart, when you conduct your usual filtering, there may be some mutual daylight."

The governor reached into his desk, and in character, brought out his pipe and tobacco pouch. "I hope you gentlemen won't mind. Addiction is a terrible thing. I'm trying to quit, and I have reduced the number of times that I go to the well, so to speak, but I still resort to the filthy habit." He pointed to a small fan on his desk. "I use this to blow away the smoke so that it does not infiltrate your eyes and lungs."
The meeting continued on in the same friendly manner. The continuing small talk furnished the governor and David an opportunity to become better acquainted. It soon became apparent that their personalities meshed.

David and Cam left the meeting with a feeling of confidence. "I could see that he liked the idea of the fundraiser," said Cam. "The problem is that it will take quite a bit of time and effort to organize a dinner."

"I recognize what you're saying. We just have to come up with a quick solution," said David. "In fact, I'll add to the complication. I cannot be associated with the fundraiser, since the governor belongs to the opposing party. Our party would consider it an act of treason. Further, we can't count on Bart now that he has retired. Tell you what, let me talk to Bennett. Every time I discuss difficult matters with him, somehow we find an answer."

"I wish you luck," said Cam. "This will require all the gray matter that you and Bennett can muster."

Indeed Bennett had something to say. As soon as David gave him the background, Bennett fired off a quick synopsis: "You need fast money; neither you nor Bart is available to help. Cam has a conflict and can't participate."

"So that leaves us with an empty gas tank."
"Not exactly," Bennett countered. "You forget that you have some important people behind you. I'm referring to your sponsors, or should I say, leaders."

"Exactly how do you see them fitting in?"

"You have a team behind you located throughout Arizona. Let them serve as the hosts for a casual get-together, a Q and A with the governor. Rather than have one of those expensive dinners, which eat up cash, propose a dessert with coffee and tea; I would not include any wine or hard liquor. The whole thing could be done quickly. There would be no speeches; microphones would be set up around the room so that everyone could engage with the governor. You could even invite the media to the meeting and pick up some good publicity for the governor, unless he prefers that it be off the record. You and Cam would have nothing to do with the meeting. In fact, Bart could be made the honorary chairman."

"Who would pay for this?"

"Hell, you divide the costs among your group of leaders, and you're talking small change for them. If you want to speed matters up, you might provide for paid staffers when you set up the dinner budget."

"You old fox. You struck gold again," said David, adding humorously, "Please send me your bill."
"I can't. By the time I get to my typewriter, I will have forgotten what we talked about," Bennett replied without humor; sadness suddenly draping his face.

That brought pain to David's otherwise pleasant conversation with his good friend and former partner.

***

So that the team of leaders could converge from all corners of the state, Cam set up a meeting at a hotel in Casa Grande, one of the larger small cities centrally located within the state, while David began work on the invitations. He and Cam recognized that some of those invited would not be able to attend, so they arranged for their appearance by phone. Speakers were regularly spaced so that all those in attendance, or attending by long-distance telephone, could hear Bart's remarks and the absent leaders. Appearing as the co-coordinators for the meeting were Sam Langley, a Republican, and Nelson Middleton, a Democrat, to show bipartisanship.

Nelson opened the meeting. "On behalf of Sam Langley and myself, we welcome you this afternoon for this organizational meeting. We have a fundraiser to organize, which shall be relatively painless. We will lay out the format shortly. Before we do so, we would like to call on Bart Langley, who is on the speakerphone. I'm sure that we all share the same personal regret over the fact that he has resigned. I can assure you that his resignation was for personal reasons. There was no pressure for him to vacate his position. Bart
has served us well for ten years. The contributions that he has made to Arizona are enormous.

"That being said, Sam and I have agreed to work as coordinators for this meeting and to assist Bart, who has selected David Sherwood to replace him. As all of you know, David has served, along with Cameron Monroe, as co-chairmen of Bart's campaigns these past ten years. David is respected for his sound, good judgment. He has become knowledgeable on the issues, and it's safe to say that Bart considers him very capable." Nelson raised his voice. "Bart, do you have anything you wish to add before we begin to focus on the agenda?"

"I sure do. I may be a former politician, but my instincts to grab the mike and sound off still remain. Frankly, I loved the job. I loved working on your behalf. Above all, I feel good about my contribution to the state and all of its citizens. I intend to share many of my ideas with David. Many of those ideas originated in conversations with you, my fellow Arizonans. I do wish to make it absolutely clear, I will not be inactive.

"There is one additional subject that I would like to raise at this point. The man who first thought I had any possibility of winning the race for the Senate was Barney Stone. He organized the original group of ten to financially support me, and he remained supportive for many years afterwards. Without Barney's efforts, I would not be addressing you all today. Barney is proposing another candidate for
my vacated office. For that reason, I chose not to invite Barney to this meeting."

Nelson and Sam then turned to the subject of the fundraiser for the governor, for which all the sponsors, as leaders throughout Arizona, would serve as cohosts. They informed the team of leaders that staff would handle the fundamentals for the event. Their responsibility was to raise the funds in accordance with the submitted budget, which was divided on a pro rata basis among them.

They made clear that the event would take place only after David's confirmed appointment, if he was so fortunate as to receive it. The meeting continued in a cooperative manner, it was evident that all would willingly participate. Cam and David reported back to the governor, who acknowledged, "The ball is now in my court. I shall decide on the appointment very soon."
THE VENGEFUL UNHINGED

UNSEEN BUT NOT UNHEARD

The call came in, the one that he had been waiting for. "There is a Mr. Grewe, Mason Grewe, on the line. Do you wish to take it?" his receptionist asked.

"By all means. Thanks, Edna." Barney's hand darted to the receiver. "Mason, I hope you have good news. What's up?"

"I do have good news. You and I are going to join forces. Because Cavalier is doing so well, we are going to put another ten million dollars into the company for expansion into the Phoenix market. Victor Kane, our CEO, is ready to gear up. He sees big bucks ahead. So let's get down to details."

"There's not much to talk about, but there's a lot of different avenues that we can take."

"Lead on, Mr. Stone. You've got the floor."

"I think for openers that you and I should make an appointment to see the governor. Victor is welcome to join us."

"Great. Victor already has eyes on two sites," said Mason. "We can mention that when we see him. How's that for starters?"

"The big thing is to first mention the new money. You should bring with you a written report showing the jobs that will be created, the number of homes you plan on selling in the next three years, and the revenues that you will generate during that time."
"Will do. Now, how does Cavalier come out?"

"I will have a private meeting with the governor ahead of time. I will tell him that in order to attract your company's expansion, fee reductions and tax abatements will be necessary. Then, with the governor's assistance, I'll set up a meeting with the appropriate city officials to set up specifics and commitments. I expect little, if any, opposition."

"I like the way you do business." Mason laughed. He couldn't help but think of the ironic twist. He had limped out of Arizona after his disbarment, and now he was returning triumphantly.

"One more thing."

"Yeah? What's that?"

"You should make a contribution directly to the governor, who then will make a similar contribution from his campaign treasury to Carmichael. It will all be arranged."

"You make the deal with the governor, and then I'll match you. How much are you putting in?"

"I told the governor that I would start off with twenty-five thousand and there would be more coming in later."

"Okay, when we meet with the governor, I'll match you. I don't know about the 'more coming in later,' but I'll let you know later on. Now I have one more thing."

"What's that?"
"How does the governor come out on this?"

"He will receive credit with his announcement that he's responsible for bringing Cavalier to the table. We'll make it a big publicity splash."

***

Cam and David were now talking daily. They peppered each other with questions, which seemed the most effective way to cover the increasing workload. David fired off the first question. "What's going on with the Carlyle Agency and its investigation?"

"I talked to Carl Carlyle late yesterday, and he says he will have all the answers tied up in a neat little package in a few more days."

"Did he give you any clues as to who's the dark soul that devastated Bart's career?"

"Sorry to say, no, and in fact, he didn't even say whether our little ladies, Sonja and Mona, were on the take. I can't conceive that they weren't paid off, but I've been led down the yellow brick road before, only to find out that Oz was nowhere to be found."

***

That same day, Sam Langley called David. "Hiya, David. How's the anxious appointee?"

"Frazzled! How about just plain worried like hell! What is totally insane is that I suddenly have two jobs. I'm working as if I'm going to receive the appointment, and I'm still practicing law."
"I understand. Hang in there. I like the idea of the fundraiser you have planned. Has the governor agreed to it yet?"

"He liked it. Of course I pointed out that we would not proceed without his appointment."

"I may be intruding," said Sam. "Meredith Landow wants to meet with you. He asked me if it was appropriate if he called you. I told him that I knew a little of the history between the two of you, but that was over ten years ago. I told him that you're not the kind of person who carries a grudge. I hope that I haven't stepped out of line. He is now a supporter of yours. He'll probably call you any day now."

"Sam, that's fine. That really comes as a surprise. I'll arrange to meet him for coffee or lunch or whatever. I archived all grudges years ago."

"Don't be surprised if he winds up becoming one of your biggest supporters."

"Sam, while I have you on the phone, I personally think that you have really been terrific. You and Bart have been through so much. I'm sure that Bart's resignation has been a major disappointment to you and your wife. As if that tragedy isn't enough, Julie is divorcing him. You could've easily dropped off the map and walked away from some bitter memories."

"David, please keep in mind that Bart chose you. He and I have had a long talk. We both know that life goes on. He still has three children to father. I know that he will always love Julie. It breaks his
heart. It breaks mine, too. In fact, Meredith is broken up about it also. Perhaps it's strange," Sam continued, "but we are all committed to you. You represent some kind of a common bond to all of us."

"Who said that grown men don't cry? The loyalty that you and Bart have shown breaks me up. I won't forget this, Sam."
THE VENGEFUL UNHINGED

OUTSMARTED

Victor greeted Mason as he arrived at the Phoenix airport. They would meet Barney at the state capitol. They had already agreed upon Cavalier's expansion into the Phoenix market. The meeting now would allow them to tactically plan for their meeting with the governor.

At first Victor had been hesitant; he feared that the company might be growing too fast, but the lure of $10 million was too much to overcome. He knew that expanding the company in a new marketplace would be challenging, but he also knew that the anticipated support from the governor would be very helpful.

Mason, who had been riding a wave of success, was jubilant. "When I first became your partner, I recognized early on that Tucson was too small. I know you're worried that we're moving too fast; sometimes you have to jump in feet first, hold your breath, and go for it. With the governor on our side and Barney Stone as our ally, I think we're in a strong position."

"What I don't quite understand is, what does Barney get out of all this? I know how the man operates. He thinks of Barney first, and he is always looking for a big payoff," said Victor.

"Your eyes are wide open; you understand how the game is played, especially with a guy like Barney," replied Mason while sitting in the passenger seat of Victor's Cadillac, which Victor had driven up from Tucson. Previously he had talked to Victor about automobiles,
and they shared beliefs dating back to post World War II that Cadillacs were the car, the most prestigious of all vehicles.

"So what's the play when we meet with the governor?" asked Victor.

"Barney is backing the vice president of Halstead Oil Company as his candidate for the appointment to the Senate. His name is Nigel Carmichael and will resign if he gets the appointment. I'm sure that Barney has struck some kind of a deal with Halstead, which means he'll make another bundle. The man is a total money machine."

"Interesting. So Barney is opposing David Sherwood for the appointment."

"Right on. That is music to my ears. Neither Barney nor I have any love for David Sherwood."

"I saw that when you were buying into our deal; you pushed hard for his ouster."

"As I said before, Victor, you catch on quickly. Now all we have to do is sit down with Barney and decide how we're going to approach the governor. I assume that Barney will take the lead. He knows the governor personally. I'm sure that Barney will look to us to verify that we have two large Phoenix sites in mind. It's best that you do the talking, as president. Be sure and mention the new capital infusion of ten million dollars. As to the Phoenix Economy Impact Statement you prepared, let's present it to Barney first. Of course, we'll leave a copy with the governor when we see him. Don't forget to
remind me to discuss the benefits that Cavalier will receive. As I understand it, Barney has already worked out some fee abatements for us. Of course, we still have to review the deal points."

"I think I now get the big picture. The quid pro quo for the governor is that he will benefit big-time when he makes the announcement that he is responsible for bringing Cavalier to Phoenix."

"Looks like a win-win," said Mason. "Incidentally, do you know how to get to the state capitol? We're meeting Barney at the front steps. He and I have already talked over just about everything. I don't believe that either you or I have ever met him in person. Probably, we will meet for coffee after the meeting, get better acquainted, nail down all the details, and be on our ways."

"Mason, you're all right," Victor said admiringly.

"Actually, I planted the seed with Barney over ten years ago; only now the tree is beginning to sprout," Mason replied boastfully; looking off into space, he had the starry-eyed look of a jackpot winner.

***

Cam and David received the news that the governor had previously met with Barney, Mason, and Victor with concern. "Well, I'll say this much for the governor: he lets you know where the cards lie. The expansion plans of Cavalier are a big attraction; it's good for the
city and good for him politically. It looks like there's a good chance that I will not be appointed."

"That could be," said Cam, "but keep in mind that there is a political problem if he appoints Nigel Carmichael. Carmichael is in thick with the oil interests. That doesn't read well in many circles.

When you proposed what we had planned as a fundraiser, his eyes lit up. When you think about it, we now have sixty of the most powerful people in Arizona signed on to act as hosts. The money that we expect to raise may be one of the largest amounts that he has ever received in one setting. He also loved our low-overhead idea for the event and the fact that casual wear is part of the plan."

"So am I still alive?"

"Very alive. The governor is going to be challenged when deciding between the two proposals. It will be interesting to see which way he goes."

***

Later in the same day, Cam and David were seated in David's office, planning and prodding.

Louise, David's very much tuned-in secretary, knocked softly on the door and poked her head through the slightly opened doorway. "I have something for you that I think you would like to see."

"If you say so, I definitely want to see it. What is it?"
Without another word, she walked in, and laid a hard-bound booklet, complete with documentation and proper verification, from the Carlyle Agency on his desk. When Cam realized what David had just received, he arose from his chair and came around, and stood over David's shoulder.

David's pulse heightened, his senses now alert to the magnitude of the situation as he opened the booklet. He quickly leafed through the first few pages, and then suddenly stopped; eyes focused in place, and gazed hypnotically. Before him was a picture showing four checks, two were payable to Sonja McMasters, and the other two were payable to Mona McMasters, for services rendered and expense reimbursement.

The checks were signed by Harold Compton on behalf of Invesco, Inc. Five thousand dollars was paid to each of the sisters for services rendered as evidence by one check, and the other checks were each for one half of the hotel expenses, totaling $1,867.

Both men were dismayed. "Who the hell is Harold Compton and who the hell is Invesco, Inc.?" said David.

"The question now is, are we now shot down or is Invesco a front organization?" asked Cam.

"I dunno. Hey, wait," said David. "There's another sheet. Take a look." They both peered and gaped. The sheet read:

Invesco is owned by Compton Realty, Inc., An Arizona corporation. Upon further investigation of the Arizona Corporation
Commission public records, Compton Realty, Inc., is wholly owned by Randolph Mortgage Company, Inc., a Delaware corporation. The Delaware public records disclose that Randolph is wholly owned by Barney Stone.

The two men sat back in amazement. Their silence said mouthfuls.
THE VENGEFUL UNHINGED

SHATTERED AND SHREDDED

Barney was running late. He called to speak to Sam's secretary, Marilyn. Before she could greet him, he quickly interjected, "Marilyn, tell Sam that I am running twenty minutes late."

Accustomed to his abrupt and sometimes rude intrusions, she responded with indifference. "That's fine, Barney. He knows that you're often so busy that you run late." As she put down the phone, Barney wondered what the meeting was all about. Sam sounded mysterious. He said it was important, but he didn't want to talk about it, especially over the phone.

When Barney arrived, the receptionist, also used to his habits, nodded without a word. He strode down the long corridor, the same one that he had walked for the past fifteen years, no longer aware of the same beige walls, the same drab commercial carpeting. Seventy-five steps would place him at Sam's office door.

The door was slightly ajar. Sam looked up; he pointed to the phone that he was holding to his ear. While covering the mouthpiece, he whispered, "Just a second; grab a seat." At that time, the receptionist walked in with a cup of black coffee and handed it to Barney as standard procedure.

When finished, Sam put the receiver in the cradle slowly and stared at Barney, as if by looking without blinking, he could drive a
stake into Barney's soul. A silence enveloped them. Barney didn't know whether to laugh or challenge him in response.

Finally, Barney, slightly irritated, said, "All right, I give up. Stop staring at me. What's on your mind?"

"I'm not looking at you. I'm looking into your head." "Is that something new? You now read gray matter?"

"I have something to show you that will both explain and change everything."

"Change what? What's this all about? In all the years I've known you, I've never seen you act so strangely."

"I have something to show you. Something you never expected me to ever see."

"This is getting more mysterious all the time. Show me, damn it; what is it?"

Sam removed three large photos from an envelope. He flippantly tossed them on his desk in Barney's direction.

Barney arose, approached the desk, and leaned forward to pick them up, still puzzled. He lifted the three photos but refused to look at them. Since games were being played, he retaliated with a lack of interest; he went back and sat down. Once settled, he focused on the contents. Each photo displayed two images. The first showed two payments of $5,000, to Sonja and Mona; the second photo showed the hotel reimbursements to the two ladies totaling the same amounts
previously paid by Bart; the third showed the various corporate layers uncovered by the Carlyle Agency showing that Barney was the mastermind that lead to Bart's tragic fall from grace.

Barney's reaction was immediate: total mortification. He had experienced a few personal tragedies, maybe an occasional business loss, but he had never suffered shame and embarrassment, particularly of the magnitude that now confronted him. Suddenly he found it difficult to swallow. Bile was edging up in his throat; nausea welled up from his stomach; his nostrils detected the odor of rotten eggs. A knockout punch had been delivered; he was utterly destroyed. Barney kept his head lowered; he couldn't look up. Not only was the cat out of the bag, but his actions had constituted a total betrayal of Sam and his son. He was caught red handed; he didn't know what to do. Any explanation would be meaningless.

As Barney remained transfixed, mired in his own filth, Sam said in a low tone, "No lectures are necessary. You now know what you have to do."

Barney looked up, cringing before his captor; every word a difficulty, he said, "I...eh...don't...know what you mean."

"I think you know. I think you understand perfectly. You've been on the getting-what-you-want end all your life. Now, for the first time, you're receiving what you dish out to others. You know perfectly well what you must now do."

"You don't mean... Oh no, Sam...that's asking too much."
"I do mean it. You have twenty-four hours to notify the governor. After that, all hell will break loose. I shall not be responsible for my actions. I will drag you through the mud."

For the first time since childhood, Barney's eyes teared. Following that, he began sobbing uncontrollably; he buried his face in his hands. He couldn't stop. Minutes seemed like hours. With a great effort, he managed some semblance of control. He looked up. Shakily, he said, "I will call the governor."

"Not good enough. Do it now. I have the phone number." Sam tendered the phone to Barney. "If the governor is unable to take the call, leave a short message with the receptionist withdrawing Nigel Carmichael's candidacy. When you finish, there is one more matter to attend to."

"I don't know what you mean. I'm not very good right now at figuring things out."

"Make the call, and then we'll talk more."

As expected, the governor could not take the call, but Barney made clear in his message that he was withdrawing the name of Nigel Carmichael as a possible appointee to the Senate. When he finished, he asked, "What else is on your mind?"

"You know what else you can do."

"What now? I don't know."

Sam said nothing. He stared at the pitiful figure before him.
The silence became unbearable. As if he could read Sam's thoughts, Barney said, "Oh no, not that. Please not that. You don't mean the country club?"

"Yes, I mean that. I mean that right now." He called Marilyn. "Please come in at once."

As if on cue, Marilyn came to the door with pad and pencil in hand. Sam said, "Marilyn, please sit down. I have a short message for you."

She sat down beside Barney without looking at him.

"On plain stationery, please insert Mr. Stone's name, address, and telephone number, properly centered, at the top of the page. Address the letter to Harley Quinlan, president of the Mountain View Country Club. Here is the message:

"Effective immediately, I do hereby resign as a member of theMountain View Country Club.

"Then set up a signature line and below it set forth the name of Barney Stone. Add notarization language below his signature. Call Stuart to come in to notarize Mr. Stone's signature. Please return as soon as you are finished typing out the letter. Mr. Stone will remain here to sign when you return."

Minutes later, the secretary returned and gave the letter to Sam. Stuart was already present. Without saying a word, without reading the paper, Barney arose and quickly signed.
Sam then said, "Do not leave. I have one other thought to mention to you."

He looked in the direction of Marilyn and Stuart. "Thank you both; you've been very helpful."

Turning to Barney, he said, "Marilyn will furnish you with a copy of the letter by the time you reach the front door."

Barney waited, still standing. Again the silence was agonizing.

Sam had decided to drive the stake as deep as he could. "I just wanted you to know that David Sherwood has been invited to join the country club with a tennis membership." Barney did not say a word as he headed for the door.

At the last moment, Sam raised his voice. "Incidentally..." Barney stopped and half turned. "I hate your fucking guts. Now get out."

That was the ultimate disgrace. Barney's head rocked back, as if he were on the receiving end of an errant pitcher's fastball. As he turned again to leave, he heard a jubilant voice over the speakerphone. "Nice going, Dad. You done good."
THE VENGEFUL UNHINGED

A BELATED ENTREATY

Although David expected the call, when his secretary informed him that Meredith Landow was on the line, he couldn't help but recall that it had been ten years since they had last talked. The engagement party at his house appeared before him as if it were yesterday. He saw the lovely backyard, the guests chatting amiably, and the contentment that reigned between him and Julie. Only later in the evening was the mood shattered, when it became visibly apparent that an abundance of the place settings at the dinner tables remained vacant.

Now that society's curtains had been lifted, would the same snubs have occurred? Would Meredith still have compromised David's engagement to Julie to satisfy the bias of his friends and clients? David recalled the hurt he felt when Julie had returned the engagement ring; he had grieved for what seemed an endless time.

He wondered why Meredith was now supporting him. What did he want to talk about? "Hello, Meredith; it's hard to believe that ten years have passed."

"Entirely too long," said Meredith, "for which I am responsible." There was a hitch in his voice, as if he were shoring up his courage to go on. "I took the coward's way out, for which I apologize. I would like to meet with you, hopefully for lunch. I know you're seeking the appointment for Bart's seat, and I know that Bart has endorsed you. That is only part of what I want to talk to you about. I hope that you
haven't carried a grudge all these years, and if you do, that you'll forgive me."

"I've never been one to carry grudges. The past is the past; I told Bart that many years ago. I didn't support your decision at the time, but I understood the social pressures you were going through. Lunching with you would be enjoyable. How is your wife?"

"She's fine. We're both in fine health. We're enjoying our middle years, realizing that a few aches and pains will begin showing up soon."

"Tell me about Julie. My warm spot for her still remains. I was so glad that she found Bart; he's a wonderful guy. I'm still torn up about their breakup. I know the background; she must've gone through an unbelievably difficult experience to end it with him. I hope they remain friends. He is still one of my dear friends."

"I have and always will treasure Bart. He was doing an outstanding job in the Senate. It's a shame; his weakness eventually devoured them both. I hope he will be able to get back on his feet. To resign from the US Senate took a lot of courage. There are other sick souls in public office that keep their addiction hidden and remain on the public's dole."

"I am open Friday. Will that work for you?"

"By all means. I will make it available. Can you come to my office? For the time being, I think that maximum privacy is advisable. I'll have lunch delivered. Okay?"
"That will be fine. Just order a salad for me, if you would, please?"

Upon entering Meredith's office, David immediately noticed the changes. Though he still appeared energetic, aging had dispensed its touches. Most apparent was baldness and the fullness in his face; added poundage had easily surfaced. He was also bent forwards slightly. Yet Meredith's energetic personality belied his appearance. His vivid blue eyes, which reminded David of Julie's similar radiance, cast a warm, friendly feeling.

As he looked about, David noticed that Meredith's office had been completely redecorated. Sharply appointed, it smacked of success. David couldn't help but acknowledge that when Meredith cast him aside, he nonetheless had made the right business decision. Alas, he was a victim of bad timing, but that didn't excuse Meredith's lack of courage.

"Meredith, what you have done! Your newly styled offices are very, very attractive."

"Nice of you to notice, David. I must say that you're looking fit. I'll bet you can't wait for that Senate seat. I hope you're prepared to run into one brick wall after another."

"Yet in spite of the obstacles, Congress does manage to get something done."

"As you may know, I am close to Sam Langley. He told me that Barney Stone has withdrawn Nigel Carmichael as your opposition.
Justly so. What Barney Stone did to Bart is unforgivable. Julie is still wounded. I do think that your appointment is now virtually assured."

"I know what you're saying. Still, if I was a nail-biter, I no longer would have any fingers left."

"I understand that you and Cam are arranging a fundraiser for the governor."

"Yes, I know that you're on the invite list, together with Julie. It will be entirely Q and A. Bart will be the honorary chairman."

"If the governor goes through with the fundraiser, I should think that would eliminate any doubt that you will be the appointee."

Having lightly touched on politics, they veered sharply to the personal. They were eager to establish a relationship and fill the void that had developed between them. Meredith said, "I've wanted to call you for many years to apologize. Yet I held back, feeling that it may have seemed contrived, since you and Bart were so close, so I chose the easy way out and left things well enough alone. Looking back, I regret that decision. Bart and Julie are both open minded, and I'm sure they would have said to go ahead. So I'll do it now. Please forgive me for interfering with you and Julie and causing your breakup. Please understand that my only purpose in telling you now is to remove my unspoken burden. I am not seeking any favors from you, if you attain the office; yet I wouldn't fault you if you thought that I had hidden motives, since you appear headed for the Senate."
"I do understand. You were placed in a difficult position at the time. Fortunately for Julie, she had a wonderful life with Bart for many years."

"Let me close it out this way. You're impressive. Most people lock in their resentments. I can see that you have an appreciation for the realities and conflicts that people go through. I'm not making excuses, because I was wrong. You have that rare ability to forgive and forget. I thank you for that and hope that this is the beginning of a new relationship between us. You are a younger man, but I must admit that I have just learned from you during this short time."

"At the risk of sounding hollow and perhaps phony, I thank you for your kind words. I'm looking forward to public service. The opportunity has fallen in my lap. I will seize it. I also want to say that you've impressed me. It took a great deal of courage to call me, open up the lines of communication between us, and make the admissions that you did."

Meredith chuckled. "We certainly are being nice to each other. Although you could think I have hidden motives, I could think the same of you. However, I do furnish additional support and additional money for your campaign."

"I've long been a believer that every act is one of dual motivation, one selfish and one unselfish, operating in tandem. That goes here. The bottom line though, is our relationship has started anew."

"Well said," Meredith agreed.
***

Mason called Barney. Weeks had passed, and he hadn't heard from him. He was getting pissed off. "What the hell is going on? Have you followed up with the governor as you said you would? I want to move against Sherwood—the sooner the better."

"Sorry. I meant to call you. Things have changed. In fact, they've changed drastically."

"Whattaya mean by that? We're riding a high. We're going to knock him off once and for all."

"No, it's not going to happen. Nigel's name has been withdrawn."

"Are you crazy?" Mason was beginning to seethe. He was getting so angry that his stomach began to grip him, shocks of pain sprang forth.

"It's all over. I can't say more. However, there is no reason why Cavalier can't continue with its expansion plans. I think the governor will help you as much as possible."

"Barney, read my lips. I want to wipe David Sherwood off the map. I thought we had him by the short hairs. Now you've quit on me."

"I'm pretty well beaten down. I'm going to lie low for a while and definitely stay out of politics. I may jump in again. We'll see."
"You mean to say that David Sherwood has gotten the best of you, the great Barney Stone, the invincible one? I don't know what's happened, but it sounds like he trashed you."

"I'll tell you this much, Mason. It was caused by my stupidity. I was caught and caught badly. Let's leave it at that."

Mason banged the phone down so hard that his hand hurt. He had never been so mad in his life. He had been waiting for years to crush David Sherwood; he pictured himself driving a stake through his heart. Instead, as a senator, Sherwood would be stronger than ever. Mason picked up the paperweight that Ronnie had given him as a present. It was a square piece of marble with a lion's head embossed on it. The inscription on the side of the marble read:

Mason, you are my lion. All my love, Ronnie.

He threw it as hard as he could against the wall. The lion's head shattered in many pieces.
THE VENGEFUL UNHINGED

NO CHOICE BUT TO SAVE ASS

At around three thirty, Mason was enjoying his midafternoon coffee, lazing in idle daydreaming. The ring of his telephone interrupted him. He picked up. "Hello, Mason Grewe speaking."

"Mr. Grewe, my name is Scott Cahill. Although you do not know me, this is not a random call. I will mention two names, which should sufficiently explain why I am reaching out to you."

Curious, Mason asked, "What can I do for you?"

The voice, formal and restrained, spoke softly. "I do not wish to say a great deal over the phone, nor do you have to admit to anything. If the names Aiko Hamada and Hiroshi Sato are significant to you, I would suggest that we arrange to meet."

"So what if they are? What's this all about?" Mason barked in return.

"Mr. Grewe, I represent the FBI. I will show you my credentials when I meet with you. This is a very important matter. May I see you today?"

"We open for dinner at six. Generally I meet with staff before then. If you want to see me, it will have to be right now."

"We will be at your office in twenty minutes. The meeting will be short. You do not need an attorney. We will ask no questions."
"This better be good," grunted Mason, resenting the fact that his relaxation time had been interrupted.

"Thank you, Mr. Grewe; expect us shortly."

When Scott Cahill rapped on the door, Mason was surprised to see two men. They could easily have passed for male models in Esquire magazine. Mason noticed in particular the taller of the two.He appeared to be of a Spanish background, with the look of an Aztec god, the kind that Ronnie would adore.

The shorter man, tall in Mason's eyes, stood at an even six feet. Both men wore fitted blue suits, starched white shirts, and ties shaded in blue tones. Neither man offered to shake hands. The shorter man said, "I'm Agent Cahill. I recently spoke to you. The gentleman to my right is Raul Ballesteros, who is affiliated with the US Department of Justice."

Both men displayed their credentials simultaneously. "How do you do, Mr. Grewe." The Aztec god spoke in a deep bass voice.

"All right, I'm a busy man. Let's get on with it. What can I do for

you?"

Cahill spoke up. "We are here to make you an offer. You have two days to accept or reject the offer. If you fail to accept it, we will place you under arrest, handcuff you, and transport you to a temporary cell in the federal penitentiary. It is at that time that you will need an attorney."
Suddenly aware of the mighty wrath of the federal government, Mason said, in as strong a voice as he could muster, "Blah, blah, blah, you got nothing on me."

"Oh, but we do. We know all about your money-laundering operation at the Desert Club. Mr. Hamada and Mr. Sato have told us everything. Right now, as we speak, they are in our custody under the Witness Protection Program. They are prepared to testify against you. If you wish to make it easy on yourself, you will cooperate with us."

Ballesteros added, "In addition to their testimony, we have been watching you and Mr. La Rosa for over two months. We know of your comings and goings. We have pictures of each of you separately and together. We even know of Mr. La Rosa's association with Gino Angelo."

It was sinking in; Mason realized that he was in deep shit. He managed to say, softly, "Give me a few days. I want to talk to my wife and lawyer."

"Today is Tuesday," Cahill said. "If by the end of Thursday we have not heard from you, we will take action. Here are both our cards. If you wish, you can contact either one of us or have your attorney get in touch with us. We leave you with one additional bit of information. We know everything that is going on at the Desert Club. We know that you have been furnishing assistance to your so-called clients, who have been bringing millions into this country illegally. We are
about to shut the whole operation down and bring you and Pappy La Rosa down with it."

The two men placed their identification cards on the desk.

Ballesteros, who had been standing tall, hands clasped in front of him, closed out the meeting. "We bid you a good day."

Mason called Ronnie immediately. "Honey, drop everything. Make arrangements for a babysitter immediately. I will be by in a half hour; we're going out for dinner. I have something very, very important to talk to you about. Our little world may come crashing down."

"Sweetheart, what in heaven's name are you talking about?"

"I'll tell you about it, every word of it. I'm going out the door right now. Hurry."

Mason called The Blue Room, an exclusive dinner club they often frequented, and were immediately ushered to table 57 regularly assigned to them. Nonetheless, when they arrived, Mason scanned the room, expecting eyes to be keeping them under surveillance. He believed all was clear, but he could still feel eyes crawling up his back; he had now acquired Pappy's paranoia for listening devices and spies.

When the waiter arrived, Mason ordered dry martinis with a lemon twist, the way he and Ronnie liked them. Then in a curt manner, he said to the waiter when the drinks arrived, "Do not come back until I call you."
"Mason, honey, I've never seen you so jumpy." Ronnie found his eyes full of fear. "Should I be worried?"

"I've been worried since I called you. It's like this: the FBI knows all about our operation. They caught Aiko and Hiroshi bringing in laundered funds, and they caved in; they confessed to everything. Our whole operation has been blown apart. They're ready to arrest me and throw me in chains."

"My God," she cried out. "My God, what do we do? This is horrible. Mason, honey, we've got to do something. Should we pack up and leave town in a hurry?"

"We're trapped. We can't run. The FBI will spot us in a minute. The most we can do is call our lawyer, but I first wanted to talk to you. They said they want to meet with me. They want my cooperation."

"Do you want me to go with you?"

"We'll call our lawyer first, but if at all possible, I don't want to implicate you."

"Sweetheart, you know we're in this together." "The question is, should I agree to cooperate?" "Sure. Tell them anything to get them off your back."

"All right, I'll find out what they want and report back to you. Then we can decide what to do."

"I don't think I want any dinner. I'm not feeling very well." Ronnie's hands moved to the pit of her stomach.
"Same here. Do you want another drink?"

"No," she said, her words coming slowly. "I just want to go home and take something to steady my nerves. Let's call our lawyer tomorrow. Who do you prefer, Sawyer or Montgomery?"

"Neither one is a criminal lawyer. The best they can do is give us a recommendation. I'll give Sawyer a call for a referral."

The meeting with Cahill and Ballesteros took place in the office of Walter Modell, a renowned criminal lawyer. Modell told Mason to listen and not say a word.

Modell addressed the two men attired in their uniform blue. "I know about your prior meeting with Mr. Grewe. You mentioned something about cooperation. What do you have in mind?"

Cahill sat back in one of the leather-bound chairs, confident that they were making progress. "We have enough evidence on Mr. Grewe to prosecute. We are willing to settle with Mr. Grewe out of court if he will help us obtain more evidence on Gino Angelo."

"Go on," Modell said.

"La Rosa, Grewe, and Angelo, based upon what we have observed, have couriers delivering funds from abroad to them. We believe that Mr. La Rosa receives Mr. Angelo's share and then arranges secret deliveries to him. If we know when La Rosa's next delivery will take place, we can then track the funds to Angelo. The problem, of course, is that Angelo has a highly protected private office. We are prepared, once we gather sufficient evidence, to crash
into Angelo's private office. If necessary, we will break down doors, search warrants in hand, and make arrests for income-tax evasion, money laundering, and other criminal activities. We know that Gino is also involved in the operation of the Desert Club, but that may be harder to prove. For that reason, Mr. Grewe will be required to testify against him."

"So how do you want Mr. Grewe to cooperate with you?"

"By use of a simple method." Cahill fished into his pocket and produced two silver dollars. "If you look closely, they both have a green spot on them. The green spot signifies the day before Pappy will deliver funds to Gino. We believe it takes place in a church confessional booth. Moon Glow has been advertising for a new busboy at your newer operation, where Mr. Grewe now maintains his office. That busboy will be one of our new young men, Randy Evans.

"We know that Claude Verdugo does the hiring. If Mason tells Claude that our agent, Randy Evans, is the nephew of his valet at home, and he wants to give Randy the job, we doubt that Claude will care very much, or be very suspicious."

Mason opened his mouth to speak, but Modell quickly silenced him. "What, then, is expected from Mr. Grewe?"

"When he knows when delivery will be made, Mr. Grewe will wait until the dishes are stacked up at the pickup station. He will simply drop the green coded coin in the bin the day before delivery."

"What will you do for Mr. Grewe if he cooperates with you?"
"We'll then place him and his family in our Witness Protection Program, relocate him and his family to a safe house in either another state or another country, as he wishes, enter into a financial settlement with him, and help arrange for the liquidation of his assets, if necessary. Simultaneously, an agreement shall be reached for him to enter a plea of guilty to a lesser crime, whereby he shall be placed on parole."

"Is that all?"

"That's all, except of course, Mr. Grewe will testify in court against Mr. Angelo and Mr. La Rosa. He will be under heavy guard during his appearance, and safe transportation shall be arranged before and afterward."

Modell directed the conversation to Mason. "Mason, do you have any questions? If not, we will close this meeting and reply to your offer within two days."

Cahill said, somewhat miffed, "There is little time to wait. We want a decision by tomorrow."

Modell arose from his desk. "See here, you're being a little too pushy. We do not intend to delay you. However, this is a family decision for Mr. Grewe. Additionally, he and I have a great deal to talk over."

"We shall wait one extra day, but we do not intend to be patient and understanding. Mr. Grewe and his cohorts have committed a series of high-level crimes."
"Gentlemen, that will be all. The meeting is now concluded. Mr. Grewe, please remain."

As the two agents left his office, Modell turned to his client. "They are, frankly, quite reasonable under the circumstances. We have to come to an understanding as to some of the terms before the deal is reached, and then I suggest that you agree to cooperate. I would advise that you discuss this with your wife immediately. After all, it will be necessary that you both leave town immediately with your little girl."

Mason fidgeted in his chair. "This is all happening so quickly. I will talk it over with my wife this evening and get back to you tomorrow. She may want to meet with you and ask some questions."

"I would expect that. Upheaval is always difficult, especially while undergoing pressures, and these are anything but ordinary pressures."

Ronnie anxiously awaited Mason's return. She opened the door before he had time to unlock it. His down-and-out expression said it all, without her asking. "That bad, huh, honey?" she asked searchingly.

"We've been stomach punched," Mason said, unable to hide the combination of anger and fear that he felt. "The government wants me to cooperate. You know what that means."

"You'd better explain."
"They will make it easy for us, allow us to keep plenty of money and protect us. The bad side is that we must move to a federal safe house, where we will be protected at all times. We can even leave the country."

"Is that all? That sounds too easy."

"You're right. There's one more part. Using coded coins, I must tell them when Gino will be receiving a courier's pouch carrying money that we had stashed overseas. Worst of all, under heavy guard, I must testify against him in open court. Of course, you and Lori will always be under their guard also."

"Mason, I'm getting frightened. This is awful. Go against Gino? You know what that means? We will be hunted for life."

"If I don't go along, baby doll, I will be headed for the slammer and lucky to see you once or twice a year. That's no life for you and Lori."

"Darling, when I married you, it was for life. We both knew that we were taking chances, going for the big money. We've lived a high lifestyle for the last ten years. I'm not about to abandon you now. I'm scared, but I'm more scared for you. You will go through living hell. You decide what to do. Either way, your decision is my decision."

"What you have just said is awesome. You know my background. Marrying you has made up for all those awful days. Thanks so much for standing by me."
Mason slowly left his chair and looked out the picture window upon their lovely backyard. With his back to Ronnie, he said reflectively, "All my life I've hated squealers. I hated the lawyer that squealed on me in Arizona. Now I'm doing the same goddamn thing." He looked at her pleadingly. "I guess I'm willing to do anything. All I know is that I want to share my days with you and Lori, our little princess."

"You've decided, then?"

"Yes. I will call Modell in the morning. I will turn coat and testify against our friends. That's it. I'm doomed if I don't and doomed if I do."
THE VENGEFUL UNHINGED

THE GRIM REAPER BLINKS

That night Mason spent a fitful time trying to sleep; his thoughts were whirling like a child's toy spinner. He liked living in Las Vegas, and one of their first sacrifices was that they would have to leave, if he agreed to cooperate. He fought the idea despite the reality that he had no other choice. If he refused to cooperate, he would face certain jail time, with huge payments for unpaid taxes, penalties, interest, and every other damn charge that the government could impose. What finally convinced him to go along with the feds was that if the situation were reversed, he knew Pappy or Gino would sell him out and call it good business.

Because of his late-night schedule, Mason usually slept late in the morning, but that morning he rose early. As was customary, Ronnie was already up and about. When he entered the kitchen, she was sipping her second cup of coffee and scanning the morning news.

"You were thrashing all night," she said. "I wonder if you got any sleep at all. I know what you're going through, honey; it's horrible. My nerves are also a wreck."

Mason slowly focused; in the past few days, his thoughts had seldom been in the here and now. With a plea in his voice, he said, "Honey, I'm going to need you now more than ever."
"I'll be at your side at all times. You know that whatever decision you make, I will go along. I will be your rock; you are my lion."

"I still feel terrible. If we go into their protection program, the feds will be watching us. They call that protection, but I call that intrusion. Hell, they may have listening devices in our bedroom. I hope you'll get used to it. In fact, I hope we both get used to it."

"Mase, dear, if the president can survive those restricted conditions, we certainly can. Sure, we give up our privacy, but we have each other. Together we'll watch Lori grow up, and then we'll watch her get swept up into the arms of Sir Galahad."

He smiled. Whenever they talked about Lori, he felt uplifted. He moved to Ronnie and placed a hand at the nape of her neck, moving his fingers slowly. "Knowing that you're with me gives me the confidence to go ahead. Wish me luck. I'll place the call today."

Ronnie swiveled her chair around to face him; they shared tears and trembling embraces. Mason left the house, knowing he was doing the right thing, but trepidation remained.

When he got to the office, he contacted Cahill and made arrangements to receive the coins; he then asked Claude to retain Randy Evans as a busboy.

Two days later, in the late morning as he backed out of his home garage, he heard a loud rap on the roof of his car. He stopped quickly, looking around to see whether he had hit something. As he
did so, two hands came at him from the driver's side and easily lifted him from the car as if there were a pulley around his waist with a weighted steel beam on the other end. Mason was in the grips of a monstrous man; never before had he seen larger hands than those wrapped around his waist. Another man appeared and grabbed him by the legs, and together they pitched him into the backseat. Before he could grasp what was happening, the two men jumped into the front seat. His surprise turned to fear and disbelief; he was being kidnapped.

The man in the passenger seat turned toward him. "You will not be able to leave this car. Look outside." A third man had appeared, and he began strapping the outside door handles on both sides. "We cannot get out, nor can you. We have a second car that will be trailing us at all times. He is the only one who can unbind the door handles. If you try to yell, we will pull over and punch your lights out."

Mason's stomach clutched; he began to shake uncontrollably; he lost all semblance of control. He urinated, his efforts to control his bladder were useless; fluids ran down his legs. He couldn't think. He tasted his breakfast; nausea accompanied every swallow. He closed his eyes and fought the urge to puke. He managed to ask, "Where are we going?"

The man in the passenger seat turned. He was larger than what Mason had first imagined, and he was one of the ugliest men Mason had ever seen. The man had an oversized nose that dominated his face and a jagged scar that ran the full breadth of one cheek; his skin
bore a sandpaper finish. A swollen, colored blotch in one eye rounded out the nightmare before him. Frankenstein was no match for this beast.

The man said, "Pinetop, Arizona. Now shut your mouth." "Pinetop. I have a vacation home there."

The man turned and shouted, "I will say this for the last time; shut your mouth."

Mason sat back. It would take over two hours to get there. He was trapped in a cesspool, totally hopeless, sitting in his own dampness. He looked out, he saw scenery, yet nothing registered.

His thoughts meandered to his childhood, to his parents, who embarrassed him continually because they were not Americanized. Suddenly they took on a new meaning. Now, trapped in despair, he felt their presence, their comfort. He began to weep; he apologized to them, realizing that they were trying their best mired in their ghetto existence. Although it wasn't much, they had provided a home filled with love. He was sorry, so very sorry, that he never showed his parents appreciation nor recognition for what they had done.

Then he visualized Ronnie, beautiful Ronnie, the lady who had remade him and changed his life. As their relationship matured, they became lovers, husband and wife, and friends. They told each other everything. They never fought. She went out of her way to help him. For once in his life, he was important to someone. The more she cared, the more he would shake his head wondering, finding it hard to
believe how fortunate he was; he was in awe. He was such a little twerp. Yet she always managed to make him feel as if he were the man of the house, the maker of all the big decisions. As she put it to him time and time again, "You are my lion."

His mind continued its wanderings, seeking understanding, wondering what life was all about. Perhaps it was the weight of his uncertain outcome that led to the sleepiness that began to crowd his conscious thoughts. The raw terror that tore at his insides had departed, leaving him numb, almost lifeless.

He awoke with a start, aware that he had drifted off, as the car veered from the highway. They turned down an unpaved dirt road and proceeded slowly for about three miles. The car that had been trailing them had apparently gone on ahead; it was parked in a secluded spot. They pulled alongside it. The driver of the other vehicle opened his door and approached their vehicle. He unstrapped the door handles and tore open the back door; Mason stared meekly as the man placed a large ice chest on the backseat by his side.

A command from Frankenstein in the front seat followed. "Get out. Come with me. Walk toward the bushes, take a leak, and don't try to run. Believe me, I can outdistance and outrun your short legs. I also have a gun, which I shall use if necessary; I shoot very straight."

Obediently, his underwear wet and uncomfortable, Mason followed instructions. He knew better than to mouth off. The two others were not far behind. After he relieved himself, he was led back to the car; once inside the outside door handles were again strapped
shut. The car turned and headed back onto the highway toward Pinetop.

About a half hour passed before Frankenstein twisted around to face Mason. His botched eye bored a hole in Mason's chest. "Open up the ice chest. Everything in it is for you. There are two sandwiches, a fifth of Jack Daniel's Black, a barf bag, and a bottle of little white pills; the pills are for sleeping." Mason opened the lid. He found much more. There were napkins, relish, paper plates, and even a bedpan. His first thought was, Looks like I'll be camping in the car,maybe sleeping overnight?

Though he hadn't thought of food, his appetite quickened at the sight of those sandwiches. He wondered how he could be hungry with those two goons watching his every move. He opened up the wrapping to one of the sandwiches. He couldn't help but smile; Gino's guiding hand was evident. A thick pile of corned beef on rye with Swiss cheese, straight from a deli, accompanied by a container with a heaping portion of coleslaw, lay before him. Since Gino was involved, that gave him pause for relief. Gino was not a killer; he punished people who wronged him. Mason couldn't figure out what he had done. Gino had no way of knowing about the feds.

He ate slowly. Why not? He had the time. Moon Glow and the Desert Club now no longer meant anything. He half fancied that it was all a fairy tale, an unbelievable fantasy. When he read a novel, he often tried to figure out the ending. Now that he was the subject of a mystery, he had no clue what was in store for him.
Since their brief stop, another hour had passed. He had devoured both sandwiches and started drinking. In the past, he would sip booze; now he slugged it down. Except for ice cubes stashed in the ice chest, he drank it straight. He felt the burn each time he poured it down his gullet; he enjoyed the feeling—his only pleasure of the day. Four slugs later, he was drifting off, no longer concerned about his personal consequences.

His stray thoughts led back to family. He grew up resenting love; he saw it as a sign of weakness. Once he married Ronnie, he began to understand that he had been afraid to show his feelings. Then Lori, his lovely daughter entered his life. She brought joy to him every time he saw her. Every day he told her that he loved her. He began to weep; he missed Ronnie and Lori so much; they were his life.

He spied familiar surroundings. Pinetop loomed just beyond a rise in the road. They passed the row of shops, many thrown together, typical for a wooded area. The family had learned to enjoy the surroundings; they found charm in the rustic atmosphere. Casualness was commonplace. Hiking, fishing, and communicating with nature became favored pastimes. They topped off each day with gobs of ice cream, and he particularly enjoyed watching Lori savor it. Fred's man-made lake, an amateur fisherman's opportunity to make a catch, came into sight. It was there that Mason learned to sit on a bank and wait patiently for a fish to be hooked. He always thought it was boring; now he enjoyed its solitude and he recognized it as an artful sport.
They turned into the country club. The driver obviously knew where he was going; he headed straight for their vacation home, Gino's wedding gift, a lovely five-bedroom dwelling. Its elevated front doorway, which arched above the line of the roof, attracted the eye. The exterior, consisting of three different finishes, a blend of stone, stucco, and log-cabin-style logs, was a complement to the surrounding area. The home spoke of Pinetop and its beginnings and the contemporary artistry of a designer's hand.

The two automobiles drove into the circular driveway and stopped. The driver of the second car went to the front door and opened it. Mason wondered: Did he have a key? Did he pick the lock?

Moments later the four garage doors opened, and they drove in. The door handles were unstrapped, and the two men sitting up front got out. Mason received another curt command. "We will return soon. Do not consider trying to leave. The doors will be strapped again while we're gone." Ten minutes later they returned, unstrapped the doors, and yanked open the rear door. They grabbed his feet and bound them together in iron clasps that they clicked shut. They left his arms unbound. He could still take a drink, down some pills, or use the bedpan. The men then placed a fabricated wall, measured to fit, that ran from door to door, floor to ceiling, blocking off all access to the front seat. It was affixed to weighted prongs placed in the front of the vehicle. With his feet bound, with only his hands free, he knew that he could not take down the wall. They left the motor idling. Mason then saw through the rear window that the men were carrying
a long hose attachment and tape. The hose was attached to the rear exhaust and run through the front window; the fumes would empty into the car while the tape sealed off the remainder of the open window.

Mason now understood his fate. It came as no surprise. He had intuited that he was going to die. Tranquility settled over him. He would leave this planet; he would leave his lovely wife and child; he would leave the wonderful business that he had managed so well for so long. It was over.

One of the men turned off the garage lights. All three men vacated the area, saying nothing to him.

His wave of tranquility soon gave way to a terror that engulfed him; he began to shout. He spoke to the heavens; he pleaded to God. He then pleaded in agonizing tones until his throat was raw. He began to cry, the cry of a dying animal; he was cringing in fear. Gradually, he was overcome, his energy sapped; his eyes began to close; he fought to stay awake, refusing to admit that there was no hope. He could not help himself. He was trapped like the screaming men in the gas chambers at Auschwitz, like the panic-stricken passengers on the Titanic, like rats scurrying in all directions while being fumigated.

He poured himself another tall drink. Without thinking, with total abandonment, he took a mouthful, and then another, of the pills and downed them. He turned to God, no longer an unbeliever, no longer doubting that God ever existed.
Dear God, I pray, not that my life be spared, but that my family, whom I love so much, will go on without me. I thank you, dear God, for my wonderful journey through life. It was a great experience. If Gino is behind all this, he outsmarted me before I could rat on him. Was Pappy in on it? I always liked them both, but the way they saw everything, business was business. He drank another tall glass, andtook another mouthful of pills. Soon his eyes closed forever.

Allowing ample time, about six hours later, the men entered the garage. They saw Mason's hapless body collapsed on the backseat. They removed the shackles from his legs, moved his lifeless body into the front seat, and let him slump over in the same position, lying prone. With gloved hands, they moved the almost-empty liquor bottle, the pill bottle, which had been emptied, and the ice chest, and put them on the passenger seat. They picked up the wrappings and dropped them on the front floor. They wiped all of Mason's prints from the backseat and vacuumed the entire area where Mason had met his fate. They left the front doors unlocked and the rear doors locked. They opened Mason's wallet, and finding what they expected, they extracted family photos—an individual photo of Ronnie and one that featured him with Ronnie and Lori. They laid one of the photos at Mason's feet and the other on the passenger seat.

They left the engine on; it would continue to idle until the vehicle ran out of gas. They left the sealed window that held the hose in place. They quietly exited through the front door after observing carefully whether anyone was watching or noticing them. They walked to their waiting automobile, which had been parked in front of
an empty lot about ten doors away. The leader said, "It is done." They drove away. When they reached the edge of town, they stopped at a pay telephone, and the leader called to pass along the conclusion.

Three days later, the gardener, who tended the grounds monthly, opened the garage door with his key, entered to pick up some tools, and discovered Mason's body; he called the authorities. Only then did he find out that Mason had been the subject of a nationwide search conducted by the FBI.
THE VENGEFUL UNHINGED

EXPENSIVE FIREWOOD

When his henchman notified Gino of Mason's demise, Gino placed one call. On the second ring, she picked up. "It is done," he said.

Ronnie immediately broke out with the cry of a crazed banshee. "Oh, my God," she screamed. "What have I done?" Tears gushed uncontrollably; she began to pant, emitting a guttural noise, sounding as if her lungs would explode. Her screams were replaced by shouts. "I loved that man with all my heart. Gino, please understand, I had no choice. The mob would've hounded us the rest of our lives."

"You did the right thing," he said softly. "You had to protect your daughter."

"That's right," she screeched at the top of her voice. "I did it. I did it for Lori. I had no other choice." She quieted down. "Gino, I'm so sorry. I will never live it down."

"I know what you're going through. We all liked Mason. If you can, please stop and listen, I don't have much time. Don't speak. I'm calling from a pay telephone. I am leaving town immediately. Are you listening?"

"Yes, yes, I hear you," she managed, still heaving. "It's hard, but I do hear you."
"All right, stay focused; listen to me carefully. You will be contacted in about three years. When the timing is right, I will have somebody call you. I will then meet you abroad and give you your share of the monies hidden away in foreign accounts. Before then you will be very comfortable. Mason had three million dollars in life insurance. You already have access to all his other accounts. You will be contacted by an attorney in a few days. He has been retained to represent you and is fully paid. You will have to work out a financial settlement with the federal authorities. There are taxes due in amounts to be negotiated, plus interest charges and penalties. The lawyer is very experienced. He will help you. His name is Matthew Newlin. I must leave you now. I'm sorry; the loss of Mason is tragic. Bye for now." He clicked off.

Ronnie remained in a state of hysterics for days and days, showing no signs of ending. She had little ability to comfort Lori, who, when she came home from school, would join her. They clung to each other; their cries bellowed through the household.

Matthew Newlin called a few days later; Gino's absentee hands continued to play a role in her affairs. The attorney organized all the funeral arrangements. Ronnie fumbled around and finally found her personal address book; she placed red checkmarks to identify those who played a personal part in their lives. Calls were made informing guests of the time and place of the funeral. There would be only a memorial service; Claude Verdugo was selected to offer the eulogy. His words lacked vitality. He could say little about Mason's personal life.
Ronnie had a series of photos of Mason apart from their family photos. Each evening she would select one and carry on a conversation with Mason; she visualized his lips moving within the photo that she had selected. This dialogue with the man she loved would become a daily ritual, a part of her life, never to end. She would have many men, and some women, who would service her physical needs during the daylight hours, but no one could or would ever replace her love for Mason.

***

All the media depicted the tragedy. The headline in the morning newspaper simply read: "Mason Grewe Dead." The tagline atop the front-page story read, "Suicide Is Apparent; Authorities Investigating."

Victor Kane was driving when he heard the news on the radio. He swerved into the right lane, forcing the car behind him to jam on screeching brakes, which Victor ignored. He turned down a side street, pulled over, and buried his head in his arms on the steering wheel. He was shaking.

He knew that Mason Grewe had been murdered. He had known all the time that Mason was affiliated with the mob. He had been so anxious to get their money and save the company that he had dispelled any thoughts of danger arising out of the association. He looked upward as if seeking deliverance.

"What have I done?" he beseeched a higher authority. His dog, a German shepherd in the rear seat, began to lick his ears. Victor
was certain that he couldn't continue. Once cocky, confident to a fault, he was now totally unsure of himself. Lights went off in his head, various connectors circulating at lightning speed seeking solutions, a way out, an answer. Nothing came but the ultimate of conclusions: his tragic mistake had been driven by greed; it had devoured his judgment. He made an immediate decision. He didn't care whether he took a loss. He would call Pappy. He hurried to his office.

Pappy's greeting was jovial, as usual. He seemed oblivious to Mason's loss of life. "Well hello, young man, how can I help you? I'm glad to see that you're doing very well."

Victor had no time for chitchat. "Pappy, what do you think of buying me out?"

"What do you mean? We have no thought of buying you out." Pappy's answer resonated. "That is totally unacceptable."

Victor continued in a commanding voice. "I want out. I want out right now."

Surprisingly calm, Pappy said, "Victor, you don't decide that. We do. I will talk to you later." He hung up before Victor could harangue or press him further.

Visibly upset, Victor downed a sedative; it was of little effect. He stalked into the reception area, barking to his secretary that he was going out and would be gone the rest of the day. For the first time in his life, he understood why some people sought refuge in alcohol. He
wasn't cut out for heavy drinking, but he spent the rest of the day in a local tavern sipping and planning, sipping and planning. Thoughts darted back and forth in random succession. Every way he figured, he was trapped.

When Victor arrived in his office the next day, he went to his desk and sat dejected. He ignored the mail and the stack of documents before him. Then he heard a thunderous rap on his door. Two men appeared in the doorway; they calmly closed it behind them and walked slowly in his direction. Unknown to Victor, they had over-powered his secretary and bound and gagged her. They were enormous in size, frightening, so much so that Victor immediately gagged. One man approached him, certainly the ugliest man Victor had ever seen. He carried a crowbar at his side, holding it as if it were no heavier than a five-pound kettlebell. His blotched eye seemed to bore a hole into Victor's helpless body. Mesmerized, Victor dared not speak. His only reaction was a profusion of sweat that covered his body as if he had been caught in a summer rain burst.

The man lifted the crowbar high above his head, and with a roundhouse golfer's backswing that would've earned Arnold Palmer's praise, smashed it into Victor's desk. Papers and files went flying throughout the room; writing materials and all other items scattered; the desk sagged in the middle and then broke in two. Victor was completely stricken. The shock was so unbearable that he broke into inaudible sobs; he began to shake furiously; he fell to the floor.
The big man said, "Pappy says to tell you that you don't tell him what to do. He tells you." The two men walked out, leaving the broken man lying in a heap of terror and confusion.

Hours passed before Victor managed to crawl out of his office. He saw that his secretary was immobilized. He fumbled with efforts to unbind her; he took an inordinate period of time, but he gradually freed her. He told her he would explain later. Neither was in a position to talk. Obviously frightened, she thanked him when he called a taxi to drive her home. "It's okay to leave your car here overnight. Please arrange to come to the office tomorrow also by taxi," Victor said, thoroughly embarrassed that she had been involved in the horrific incident.

He could say no more. He limped over to the sofa in the reception room. He was so weakened that he lapsed into a deep sleep immediately.

***

Ballesteros rushed into Cahill's office. "I have something to tell you. You won't like it."

Cahill interrupted him, "I don't see how it leaked; we were so careful. I can't understand how Gino found out that we had turned Mason, it's unbelievable. There's no doubt he had been murdered. We must move quickly. Arrest Pappy now. Close the Desert Club at once; confiscate all the remainder of the funds in the lockboxes. I should think that a great deal of the funds have already been
withdrawn and invested in properties. If somebody wishes to claim ownership, let them come and see us. I doubt if anybody will risk disclosure."

Ballesteros added, "I don't think the story leaked. Angelo probably figured once Aiko and Hiroshi were arrested that they would spill everything. He decided to eliminate Grewe to play safe."

"That may be. We don't have enough evidence against Gino, but let's pull him in anyway as a suspect. I want to do a search of his office. Knowing how thorough he is, we probably won't get much, but it's worth a try. We may get more out of a search of La Rosa's records."

"That's what I came in to see you about." Disgust was written all over Ballesteros's constricted face. "Our man in charge of round-the-clock watches on Gino's home discovered last night that the house was vacant. They then searched the grounds and found an underground tunnel that exited into the house next door. Apparently, our little mastermind, Mr. Angelo, owned that house also. He even had a getaway car parked in an absolutely clean garage. The only thing he left behind was a fully-loaded automatic weapon with an ample supply of additional cartridges. I guess he was ready to blast away, if necessary, to get away."

"So he left La Rosa behind to take the rap," said Cahill.

***
When Victor awakened, it was almost the close of the day. He picked up the phone and called David Sherwood. When the receptionist answered, he said, "This is Victor Kane. I must talk to David. It's an urgent matter."

"Victor. It's good to hear from you."

Victor cut him off. "David, I must see you. I must see you in my office. It's very important. Can you come in right now or first thing in the morning?"

"Since your office is on my way home, I can drop over in about an hour."

"Hurry. Don't wait."

"Okay, my friend."

When David met Victor in the office reception area, Victor immediately said, "I have something to show you in my office that is shocking. I will explain." He pulled David into his office.

David was immediately astounded; he turned to Victor, puzzled. Victor poured out the events, occasionally stopping and doubling over in pain.

David said, "I can see you're still hurting. You may be lucky. I just heard on the news coming here that the papers have gotten ahold of the story. They know the FBI is involved. The feds have already picked up Pappy La Rosa, but Gino Angelo has vanished. The chances are you won't hear from either of them again."
Relief swept over Victor, though scars lingered. "I still don't know what to do. When we formed the new venture, as you know, they set up a fictitious corporation as a stockholder with Cavalier. I presently own one-third of the company."

"Don't be surprised if Mason's and Pappy's interests are owned by some very deep owners. I'll bet that the FBI will soon knock on your door. I'm sure they'll want you to keep operating while they sort out the ownership. The news also mentioned that Mason may have been involved in an international money-laundering scheme. It could be your Japanese partners were also involved. Hell, you may end up with the feds as stockholders."

"It just so happens that we recently adjusted our ownership; that's why I only own a third now. Mason and the Japanese invested an additional ten million dollars for expansion into Phoenix."

"Do you have access to those funds?"

"I do. That is one of the things I insisted upon when we adjusted."

"Best you hold off on the use of the funds and keep them separate from your operating accounts. When the feds come around to investigate, you can tell them all about it and see what they want to do. Remember that if you don't like what they have in mind, you can take appropriate action," said David.

"Thanks, David; I needed that. I wasn't thinking very well."
"You have a legitimate operation. If they want to see any documents, ask them to have subpoenas issued as a precaution."

"I have a feeling that I will have the federal government breathing down my neck for some time."

"Crazy, huh? You're innocent, but no doubt, you will be burdened for quite a while. As for the roughhouse gang that paid you a visit, you can rest easy; I'm sure that you've seen the last of them. I would call a professional photographer to take pictures of your desk and the entire room to show the FBI. I'd also give them a description of the two goons that broke in on you."

"What a turnabout! Quite a story to tell my regular Thursday-night poker friends," Victor quipped.

David started to laugh. "Don't forget to have your company buy you a new desk. Then I suggest you contact your friendly insurance company and see if you have coverage." He paused. "Hey, maybe I can regain Cavalier as a client again."

Victor nodded accordingly. "Glad to have you back."

The next day Victor's secretary sent her husband by to pick up her car; he also handed Victor her written resignation effective immediately.
THE VENGEFUL UNHINGED

THE HALO EFFECT

The setting was informal; most men wore sports jackets with open collars; a few were in sweaters and slacks. The women were clad in casual suits or in skirts and blouses; a few were bold enough to wear designer jeans with appropriate top wear. The setting did not deny the women the opportunity to display an array of dazzling jewelry. As intended, it was a relaxed political outing.

The governor had rejected the idea of a raised dais. He chose to sit at a table in the middle of the room, with the guests at tables arranged in a series of circles around him. It was theater in the round, most unusual for a political gathering. When a guest asked him a question, he would swivel in his chair to face the speaker and respond in his typical low-key manner. The governor's likable personality, and the pleasant informality, made for a delightful evening.

Although the price tag had been set at $500 for a couple, the room was full. It was easy to understand. Sixty of Arizona's leading citizens were hosting the event. Their calls to business associates, friends, and family, asking them to attend, were met with an abundance of positive responses. It didn't take long before each leader sold out his allotment. Although Bart had stepped down as senator, his name carried a great deal of weight throughout the state. As honorary chairman, he added to the attraction of the event.
Bart sat at a table with his parents and with David and his parents. The governor, who was politically astute and naturally gracious, had personally asked Bart to introduce him.

Announcements had been sent out that the evening would begin at seven. Bart arose a few minutes after that time.

"My friends, I welcome the honor to be your chairman for the evening. I shall always cherish the time that I spent as senator, representing your interests. I have bowed out to begin a new chapter in my life. I shall proceed down a different path, but the warm spot I have for the office will remain forever within me. This evening I have the pleasure to introduce to you... No, I take that back. I have the pleasure to present to you, since he needs no introduction, our governor, J. Leland Shayne. Although we are generally of different political persuasions, I always found him open and cooperative. On the many occasions when we would voice our opinions, respect was always maintained, and we often were able to arrive at a reasonable conclusion. Too many of those in government are out to get the other guy. To them it is about winning at all times; bring the other guy down. The governor and I never operated that way. As a result, I can easily present to you, with a great deal of respect, Governor J. Leland Shayne. I know this is a casual setting, but please stand up to acknowledge this great leader."

The governor stood up tall and erect to show his appreciation. As if Cam and David had advised him on his attire for the evening, the governor wore a cardigan sweater, with the two lower buttons fastened; he waved and even blew a few kisses to the standing
applause. As he sat down, Bart continued. "We're here tonight to hear from you and find out about your concerns, your questions, and any comments you care to make. In keeping with the format for this evening, the governor will make no opening remarks. To those of you who wish, please raise your hand so that the governor can acknowledge you. You may sit or stand when you ask your question. We have a group of youthful volunteers on hand with portable microphones for your use when you address the governor."

As Bart sat down, many hands quickly raised. The governor, while seated, portable microphone in hand, beckoned to a lady wearing a bright-yellow blouse and a preppy pleated skirt. She said, "Governor, thank you so much for agreeing to the informality of this gathering. I'm sure that before the evening is over, you will be asked some very tough questions that force you to take a difficult stand or an unpopular one. My question is, do you agree that in order to purchase a weapon, the purchaser should be required to go through a background check and registration?"

The governor remained seated. "Before I answer that question, and it's a good one, I think it's pretty obvious that this state supports a very conservative gun policy. If I support that same policy, I run the risk of being called a politician out to win votes. If I go against it, I run the risk of losing many votes. So before I win or lose, allow me first to make an announcement. I'm happy to say that I have accepted Bart's nominee for appointment to the US Senate. May I introduce to you, Senator David Sherwood. David, please arise."
The crowd broke out in a roar. A great deal of backslapping and hugs occurred. David was transfixed. He had known it was coming, and yet it came as a surprise. Suddenly the spotlight shifted his way. He had not prepared any remarks; he somehow could not work up to it. He felt terribly ill at ease; not since his early days in the courtroom had he experienced the degree, the magnitude, of self-consciousness that now dwarfed him. He was thoroughly embarrassed. He heard Bart, who obviously noticed his discomfort, whisper reassuringly, "It's okay, David; say a few words."

David slowly arose. His eyes swept the room, attempting to face those who now were, for the most part, his constituents. With a deep breath, and a gush of imposed control, he said, recognizing that the weight of responsibility of the high office was now his, "I accept this appointment with a passion, a commitment, to serve you. Yet I am saddened because my very good friend, a man who I respect and on whose behalf I worked for ten years, has stepped down. I accept his baton and will carry on with the same sense of responsibility and honor that he brought to the office. It is an awesome task. The issues are huge. I know that forces will come at me from all sides. There is no room for an idealist; there is no room for dogmatic approaches. I will seek compromises within reason. The question always will be: how much do I compromise? How much do I have to give in order to get? I shall always lend an ear to you, to each of you. I shall always be open to your suggestions. I know there will be times that I will disappoint you. I hope there will be offsetting times that I will please you." He turned to face the man who had bestowed this honor upon
him. "Governor, I thank you. I look forward to working with you in the ensuing years. I shall endeavor to live up to the high standards that I know you expect of me." He did not sit back down. The crowd were on their feet clapping loudly; a clamor that would remain lodged within his memory and would embolden him throughout his tenure in office continued as moments turned into minutes.

As the evening progressed, many gained a new respect for the governor, who had the unique capability of fielding difficult questions in a clear, plain-spoken manner that cut to the heart of the subject.

On the subject of gun registration, he said, "There is no way that registration will provide complete protection from madmen. On the other hand, we must maintain vigilance over those of known questionable background and of impaired mental health in order to reduce the havoc that they can cause. That requires surveillance over those tragic souls. By analogy, the police do not solve every crime, nor prevent all of them, but society is better off with the police, despite the fact that they are entrusted with regulations that govern our lives, and admittedly place limits on our freedom. It's not perfect; it never will be. The same is true for gun registration; it is better to have registration than to do without. Put another way, providing that it is reasonable, gun registration is a justifiable limitation on our freedom. Please understand that I respect our right to bear arms as provided in the Constitution, but I also respect lawful safeguards in the use of guns to better protect and safeguard society."

Three hours passed quickly; the governor finally said, "I feel it is time to close. I know that you have more to say and more to ask.
Please feel free to contact my office at any time. I promise you a reply. It may be delayed somewhat, but that is to be expected because I have a very crowded schedule. I've learned a great deal this evening. I hope you have also, David. I look forward to working with you. I'm sure you will carry on in the same honorable tradition, as Bart capably performed his duties. To one and all, I say thank you again. The evening is adjourned." The governor arose as well-wishers came from all sides to greet him.

It had previously been announced that the press would be on hand, and a good portion of the governor's words would be the subject of tomorrow's news. Like the governor, David was mobbed, and soon he was going from person to person, answering their questions and accepting their hugs and kisses. He soon realized that maintaining alertness, keeping a perpetual smile on his face, and engaging in a great deal of small talk led to exhaustion. His thoughts darted to many past fundraisers that he had hosted; he now understood the reason that guest entertainers would leave the room early when they finished, often escaping through the kitchen, to avoid the avalanche that would follow.

When things had quieted down and the room had half emptied, David returned to his table. A female voice that he knew, but couldn't quite place, called out, "Mr. Sherwood, congratulations."

He stopped dead in his tracks. The only female voice that had last addressed him as Mr. Sherwood was on the night that he first met Mista. Then it came back to him in a flourish, as if the clock had
been turned back, and he was full of love again in the garden setting of the Landow home.

He turned quickly. Before he could say a word, their eyes locked. He could feel the intensity of her blue eyes, and the spell that they cast; the flame that once existed between them had reignited. He managed to say, "Hello...you look beautiful."

"You haven't changed," she said.

As one of the guests tried to pull him away, he turned to look at her for one last moment. She understood. She managed to say, "I will call you."

"Please do. I...would like that." He was soon lost among those who continued to seek him out.

He felt awkward as he headed back to where Bart sat with both sets of parents. Of course, it was too early to make judgments. Julie and he would have much to talk about. He could feel her tug at his heartstring.

As soon as he sat down, all eyes at the table focused glowingly on him. He recognized it immediately; the halo effect had now taken effect. It was clear that he represented a new meaning in their lives. It was a most unusual feeling. He had been elevated; people would now hang on to his every word. He thought it silly; he was the same person, but now he was a celebrity. He was about to embark upon a completely new challenge as a US senator. There would be lingering
question, which would continually persist and never be completely answered: What lay before him?

As they were dispersing for the evening, his mother pulled him aside. "I saw you talking to Julie. That was nice."

***

The next day, David called Bennett's home. His wife answered. "Hello."

"Hi, Ruth. Is Bennett home?"

She hesitated. "David, I'm not sure he can come to the phone right now. Things are not well."

"How bad is it?"

"Bad. He has lost his memory entirely. If you were to come and see him, he would forget the conversation afterward."

"That beautiful mind! We knew it would come down to this, but now it's very difficult to face up to it. It must be very hard on you to cope with."

"He's the man I love. I have loved him all my life. His mind was so active, so full of life. I cry every day."

"I'm going to suggest something. I know it's out of the ordinary, but it's something I feel deeply about. I hope you'll go along."

"David, you're one of Bennett's best friends. You know I'll do whatever I can. What do you have on your mind?"
"I'm going to send Bennett a letter. I know that once he reads it, he will soon forget it. My suggestion is that you give it to him or read it to him every morning. He may not remember it, but hopefully it will add a moment of brightness to his day."

"Oh, David, you always were so creative. You make me want to cry. I promise, every morning I will either read it to him or give it to him with his orange juice."

"Thanks, Ruth. Anytime I can be a help to you, please let me know."

"David, I did read about your Senate appointment. You will make a fine senator."

"Thanks Ruth. I respect you for the care and patience that you show Bennett."

The next day the letter, undated, arrived by private messenger on US Senate stationery. It read:

Dear Bennett:

I still remember the day when I first became a member of your law firm. During all the years that followed, we became very close, and you served as my guiding light. My relationship with you, as a friend and as a partner, I shall treasure all my life.

Just a short time ago, I was appointed to the US Senate. I somehow feel that I have arisen to this lofty position because you
have served as an inspiration to me and steered me in the right direction at all times.

May God bless you, my dear friend.

Sincerely,

David
THREE EPILOGUES:

THE ONGOING VIGIL

After Mason passed away, Ronnie decided to move with Lori to Malibu, California. She was financially comfortable and could afford an expensive condo in a high-rise apartment complex overlooking the ocean.

She and Lori were favorites on the beach; they became adept at two-man volleyball. Soon they were defeating all the female teams, and they began to engage the muscle-clad boys; they found to their delight that they could hold their own with them. Ronnie soon recognized that Lori had uncanny vision, capable of seeing the ball the instant that the hitter swatted it, which allowed her to move in position to retrieve the ball as if it had been hit in slow motion.

Ronnie continued her sexual proclivities during daylight hours, visiting movie sets and engaging in an abundance of exhilarating excursions with many of the top celebrity actors, directors, producers, and occasionally photographers.

In the evening, the scenario changed dramatically. With a few exceptions, when she attended school functions or planned socially with Lori, Ronnie would carry on her nighttime vigil and maintain an ongoing conversation with Mason.

Upon reaching high school, Lori discovered her sexuality; her thirst soon became apparent to Ronnie. Recognizing the overheated signs, Ronnie knew that Lori would begin to enjoy romps with a fertile crop of male students.
It was only a matter of time before they would team up again, but this time they would shed bathing suits and all other clothing.

***

THE SCHEME THAT BACKFIRED

Bart picked up David's call on the third ring. "Since I only have one thousand things on my mind, I thought I would tell you that I think I figured out Barney's angle."

"That's interesting."

"This may come as a surprise to you, but I don't think that Barney wanted you out of office. He never figured on your resignation."

"You mean he never figured I'd be so stupid as to use the wrong credit card, where the billings were sent home."

David chose to ignore the admission and stay on the subject. "I think his plan was to pressure you to get what he wanted."

"Sounds like Barney. Wouldn't that be bribery?"

"He's too devious. I think he'd use some roundabout methods to get at you. One way would be to send you a picture of your escapades anonymously. Then, using intermediaries or other notices, he would let you know what he was seeking. From what I have since learned from my Senate colleagues, Nigel Carmichael and his company want to install a pipeline from Tucson to Nogales, Arizona."
"So how would Barney come out? He certainly is not going to buy up all the land between Tucson and Nogales."

"I think he would buy key sites that had commercial potential."

"So his scheme backfired on him. I ended up being sucker-punched, and he ended up shooting himself in the foot. Well, that story is made to order for a book!" said Bart, amused with David's analysis, though it brought up unpleasant memories.

"It certainly would make a good epilogue, don't you think?"

They laughed in agreement.

***

A LETTER BETWEEN FRIENDS

Dear David,

You asked me to write this letter, even though I have already told you that I understand and have no problem with you going back to Julie. You thought that I might harbor ill feelings. Since we have such a close friendship, you wanted me to dig deeper and express any reservations that I may have.

Of course, there is an inherent unfairness in the question. You will always feel, and I may feel the same, that whatever I answer, or whatever I say, is still biased. That I will feel pressured not to say the wrong thing, because I don't want to hurt your feelings or Julie's feelings.
Having said all that, I'll tell you how I feel. Plain and simple, I think it is fine. I have harbored no thoughts that Julie and I would kiss and make up. I had my day; we had our day; that day has ended.

I must say that I admire your courage. Moving into a household of six kids, all of about the same age, with half the kids being Christian and half being Jewish, will be a real challenge. Add the kids' adolescence to the equation, and their adjustment to a new set of parents, so soon after both households broke up, will be difficult. Fortunately, Julie is a very good mother, but I still think that both of you will have your hands full.

I do see in the future that there will be "one big, happy family" days, whereby you and Julie, the kids, Mista, and I, and perhaps our parents, will all get together. Thanksgiving would work out best, and it would be safe, free from religious significance.

In closing, to further allay your concerns, I hope to find a new "lady of my life," recapture some of my lost love, and refill my chasm of hurt feelings.

So, David, my close friend, and Julie, my dear love of yesteryear, I bid both of you a wonderful life together. Keep your spirits up, for at times you will need them.

Hey, David—let me know when you can manage to escape from the DC scene and return to Tucson. I'll fly up, and we'll revisit the Mountain Oyster Club, where it all began.

Your friend, Bart
BOOK REVIEW

I certainly hope that you enjoyed reading Vengeful Unhinged, as much as I enjoyed writing it. Your thoughts, whether favorable or unfavorable, are important. I would appreciate it if you would let everyone know your feelings by posting a review.

Please proceed to the online book store of your choice and insert Vengeful Unhinged in the search bar. When you arrive at the book page please scroll down to the review link to click on and express your opinion.

AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY

I am a lawyer, now retired, having engaged in large-scale commercial transactions for many years, observing on most occasions good people honorably engaged in commercial transactions. I also encountered participants in the steamrolling activities of greed-driven, powerful forces, and took note of some murderous actions of organized crime that occurred.

My experience spanned many areas, which broadened in scope, when I "donned the hat" of a real estate developer, exposing me to the intricacies of the banking industry.

During my career I also was fortunate to serve in leadership capacities in statewide and national political campaigns and I am familiar with the workings of government and its abuses by certain politicians, who consider conspiracy as accepted conduct.

The activities in this fast-paced thriller occurred during the 1960s and 1970s when the Equal Rights Act was passed, opening up equal opportunities for African- Americans, other racial minorities, women, and minority religions. During those times, I witnessed first-hand the financial crisis that occurred in the 1970s, when banks stopped lending and funds dried up, resulting in the diminution of
value in properties across the land, and the downfall of builders, banks, and others engaged in financial pursuits.

Twice married, I live comfortably in Tucson, Arizona, the setting for this action-packed, suspense driven, political thriller. Though it is fiction, a portion is based on actual experiences and factual events that I either experienced or became aware of during those tumultuous times; of course, some of the experiences and situations are entirely imaginary.

If you wish a more complete bio, please visit my website. Click onhttp://www.vengefulunhinged.com/ and then click on my photo in the upper right hand corner.
