“An honor,” he says.
“Thank you, Senator.”
She sits. LaRue is across from her, sipping a Diet Coke. He is a Drinker who doesn’t drink, wearing a brown mudslide of a suit, tie loose at the collar. When he finishes his Diet Coke, an aide automatically brings him another.
“Big days,” he says. “Critical days.”
She nods.
“Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition.” He smiles.
“I’m sorry?”
“That’s what my daddy always said. He was a preacher in our Samsonite community.”
“I’m not familiar with the Samsonites.”
“Fine people,” he says, “honorable people, committed to the idea that Eve, made from Adam’s rib, existed as an instrument of his will. But that man must be ever vigilant, lest the female of the species sap him of his life force.”
“You’re talking about the story of Samson and Delilah.”
“That’s it exactly,” he says, smiling. “A good man, a pious man seduced and betrayed by a fallen woman.”
He raises his glass and sips the last trace of his Diet Coke loudly, rattles his glass. An aide brings him another refill.
“You were raised in the Church of Christ,” he says, wiping his sweaty brow with a pocket handkerchief.
“I was. My family is quite devout.”
“Praise be.”
He takes a long sip. “And your husband is—”
“He’s from Georgia originally, raised Baptist.”
LaRue’s office is narrow, with a desk and two guest chairs. There’s a small round table by the door. The other senators’ offices Margot has visited have been busy places, overwhelmed by paperwork and briefing books, but LaRue’s office is clutter free, empty of both work product and personality. No documents, no books on the shelves.
“Well,” says LaRue, leaning forward, “I’m so happy you came to see me today. Because I know we speak the same language. That we see the truth they try so hard to hide. This world may look like the world we grew up in.”
He holds up his glass. “This glass may feel like just a regular glass. And in some ways it is, the way the Titanic was still a boat, even when it was sinking, but when you connect the dots, when you really understand what’s going on, you know the truth. We are locked in an uphill battle against the forces of evil. Forces that attacked and undermined our former president, hallowed be his name. Forces that have infiltrated the highest level of our finest institutions. I pray on it every night. There’s a storm coming, Your Honor. It may already be here. Certainly, I can hear the hooves approaching. The pale rider. You understand? January sixth was just the beginning. Our government cannot save us. Our courts cannot save us. Only He can save us. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Margot nods. She has a cousin back in Michigan who holds court at family reunions about Satan’s plot against a Christian America, about the duplicity of powerful elites. On some level it’s nothing new. The Bar has always had Drinkers like LaRue, perched at the curve, talking about the end of the world, but their section is bigger now. The hooch they drink is addictive and cheap, and they pour from their own bottles for anyone who’s curious. Margot tells herself they mean well, men like LaRue, that they’re just afraid of powers greater than themselves, state powers, cultural forces, Hollywood elites and other profane agents of Satan, sent to seduce our youth. Their words are just words, after all, and aren’t our words protected by a blessed document?
Don’t we all have a right to our own opinion?
That’s her theory anyway.
“Senator,” she says, “I do believe that we are here for a reason, all of us. That we do not get to choose the role we will play in His plan. All we can do is try to live according to His principles, for the betterment of all mankind.”
LaRue closes his eyes and sits back. There is a smile on his face, his hands raised in a triangle to his chest. One of his aides steps forward.
“The senator will pray on what you said,” he says, indicating that Margot should leave.
She calls Remy on her break, questioning him on every detail. He tells her the FBI has traced Story’s cell phone to a trash can at a gas station on Interstate 10, a hundred miles west of him.
“Looks like it was dumped sometime in the last few days,” Remy tells her. Hadrian is playing with his Nintendo Switch on one of the twin beds in their hotel room. They’re in downtown Austin at the Four Seasons, looking out at the Colorado River. Remy is tired today. His right leg is twitching. Earlier Hadrian asked his father if he was mad at him.