Fellow Travelers

by Thomas Mallon

Everybody’s money comes from someplace, Senator. Everybody’s people come from someplace. Tim remembered the quick threat to Potter, the poisoned meat in the sandwich of bonhomie that McCarthy had served that afternoon last March. Tommy would have heard the remark from the outer office, where he’d decided to wait. “But Joe and Roy don’t know I got myself imposed on Charlie for my own particular motives. And they don’t know I’ve got something far bigger on them than they’ve got on yours truly.” There would be no further explanation tonight. Tim reached for a peppermint and kept his eyes on the tablecloth. “Why did you tell me all this?” he asked at last. “Because I’ve seen you looking at Mr. Fuller. And I know that your life will be given to his as surely as Annie Larchwood got mine. I told you because you’ll understand.” Tommy pushed aside the just-brought coffee and leaned into the table. His eyes shone with a brutal sympathy, letting Tim know that, from this moment on, for the foreseeable future, he lived not just in Hawkins’ clutches, but in Tommy McIntyre’s, too.