LITMIR.BIZ

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Reggie,” she said. I turned and shook the hand of the man across from her. He was wearing a dark suit that looked equally tailored.

      “You work for Burke Cunningham,” he said.

      “That’s right.”

      “Burke and I went to law school together. Weren’t you at the banquet last winter?”

      “Yes, of course,” I said.

      How could I forget? Banquet a euphemism for a Rodriguez fundraiser that Burke had organized the night of one of the televised Democratic candidate debates earlier in the year. Burke, the consummate Democrat, and more importantly, my occasional boss as one of Columbus’s top defense attorneys. My sister, who was always on me about my lack of interest in politics, had ragged me endlessly after I photobombed a picture of Burke and his wife, Dorothy, posing with the state party chair. A picture inconveniently, at least for me, posted on the Ohio Democratic Party’s Facebook page for a couple of days.

      “I remember now,” Senator Kinser said. “You were with a charming young woman. A runner, as I recall. Such a beautiful girl.”

      “That’s right. Anne Cooper.”

      “Beautiful is right,” Hershey said, much to my annoyance.

      “Please give Burke my regards,” Reggie said.

      “And give Anne mine,” Senator Kinser said.

      I nodded.

      “Senator Kinser is cosponsoring the Fair Funding Focus bill,” Hershey said. She waited, patiently, not rising to the Triple F bait. He said, “Any word on the charter schools?”

      “We’re working diligently on the legislation,” she said.

      “Any details on that diligence?”

      “Perhaps.”

      “Any you’d care to share?”

      “Not tonight. We’re just here for dinner.” When Hershey didn’t respond, she added, “Call me tomorrow. After ten.”

      “It’s a date,” Hershey said.

      “Sounds like Anne’s got a new best friend,” Hershey said as we walked away.

      “I guess. Don’t tell me that the senator is the type to follow you.”

      “I wouldn’t be so sure. Didn’t you notice her eyes? She’s got a bad case of the ‘Ohio Look.’”

      “The what?”

      We arrived back at the bar and found space in the middle. Hershey cleared his throat dramatically. “The Ohio Look,” he said. “‘The dreamy, far-away expression of a man richly meditating on cheering audiences, landslides, and high office.’ It’s an old James Thurber line. You have heard of Thurber?”

      I gave him my own look, the one I reserve for people who make fun of me for wearing black socks with sandals.

      “OK, OK. But did you know he was a Statehouse reporter here before he went off to the New Yorker?”

      “As a matter of fact I did. What’s any of this got to do with Kinser?”

      “Her faraway expression involves a run for state treasurer in two years. She wants a school-funding bill passed as badly as anyone. It’ll be at the top of her speech the day she announces.”

      “Have you written any stories that annoyed her?”

      “A couple. She’s tight with the Planned Parenthood crowd. I’ve pointed out the proximity of donations from pro-choice folks to her votes on abortion-expansion bills.”

      “I thought you media elite types were hands-off anything criticizing abortion.”

      “Couldn’t say. I’ll write just about anything as long as I’ve got it first.”

      “So you’re an equal opportunity enemy maker?”

      “That may be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me, Woody.”

      “I told you, it’s Andy—”

      “Let’s see,” he said, ignoring me as he searched the room. “We’ve done the executive branch and legislative branch. All we need is—.” He settled on someone across the restaurant. “Perfect. He’s out of the can. Come on.”

       5

      WE WALKED BACK ACROSS the room to the last booth on the other side and stopped in front of an older, white-haired man. He was alone, nursing a tumbler of brown liquid.

      “Hello, Justice,” Hershey said. “How are things on the bench?”

      “Slippery as always,” he said.

      Uninvited, Hershey moved into the opposite side of the booth, gesturing for me to follow.

      “Andy Hayes? Supreme Court Justice William Caldwell Bryan,” Hershey said. “Billy to his friends, Bill to his worst enemies, William to his dear departed mother.” We shook hands. Whereas Ratliff’s grip was tentatively firm and Senator Kinser’s professionally warm, Bryan’s handshake was an iron grasp. It was like meeting a longshoreman over the bargaining table.

      “Justice Bryan wrote the past two decisions finding Ohio’s school-funding system unconstitutional,” Hershey said. “He is of course watching the Triple F deliberations with great interest.”

      “A pleasure meeting you, Mr. Hayes,” Bryan said, ignoring Hershey. There was something familiar about his voice I couldn’t quite place. “I was a fan of yours.”

      “Thank you,” I said. It wasn’t the type of comment I was used to hearing from judges.

      “You’ve made an interesting transition. I’d like to hear about it sometime.”

      “No time like the present,” Hershey said.

      “But not tonight,” Bryan added, lifting his glass toward the reporter. “I know how busy you must be.”

      “Full house,” Hershey said, pretending he hadn’t heard as he gestured at the rest of the restaurant. “The governor’s chief of staff is here, Ottie Kinser is down at the other end, you’re presiding. We could settle school funding right now.”

      “And ruin a perfectly good steak?” Bryan said as a waiter materialized with a plate.

      “A rain check, then,” Hershey said. He looked at me, and I slid out of the booth as he followed. Bryan nodded but didn’t reply.

      “Look at you,” Hershey said as we crossed the room. “A personal invite to spill your guts to Billy Bryan. That’s impressive.”

      Our seats at the bar were long gone. The Clarmont had filled up. Hershey made eye contact with the bartender. I gave up on my Belgian ale and ordered a Heineken. The drinks arrived and Hershey started digging for his wallet, but the bartender waved him off, nodding at someone on a stool near the door. Hershey looked in that direction, gave the bartender a thumbs-up, and walked down the bar, drink in hand, with me in close pursuit.

      “Thanks for the drink, Jack,” Hershey said, coming to a stop.

      “You’re welcome,” the man said. Even I could tell his dark navy suit was the most expensive in the restaurant, which was saying something. He looked like he’d come directly from a Savile Row tailor’s shop. “I asked him to spike it with extra rat poison.”

      “Just how I like it,” Hershey said, tipping his drink toward his benefactor as he introduced me.

      “Jack Sterling,” the man said with a nod. “Why the hell you hanging around this pervert?”

      “I’m paying him to,” Hershey said. “Just like your ‘friends’ pay you to be nice to them. What’s the latest?”

      “First

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