“Yes.”
“So we focus on what Hart would want Milo to do. He’s a rich preppy lawyer.”
George poured me another shot, then himself.
“Thanks.” I hoisted my shot glass. “To the truth.”
“Good enough.” George drank, then set the glass heavily on the table.
“Here’s what I figured out, with my wife. At first we thought Milo and Junior carjacked us to make it look like they needed to ditch the car after Jennersville. Then I found out she’d had an affair with Hart—”
“Whoa.” George snorted. “Too much information.”
“Hart sent Milo to kill me during the carjacking, so he and my wife could be together. We think Milo changed his mind and double-crossed him.”
George burst into laughter that ended in a coughing fit. I rose in case he started spitting blood, but he didn’t. He grabbed his tissue and held it to his mouth while his laughter subsided, then he used it to wipe his eyes. “God, you’re funny. That’s funny.”
I sat back down. “I take it I’m wrong. How?”
“You’re the one who wanted to talk.” George shrugged. “So talk.”
“I can’t, I’m trying to understand if my theory is right. You’re laughing. If you’re not going to explain, then we’re never going to figure out what Hart and Milo were up to.”
George rolled his eyes. “Okay. Hart did not send Milo to kill you because of your wife. Hart doesn’t love any woman that much. The only reason he does anything is for money or power.”
“He already has both.”
George smiled, amused. “Who has enough? Is there anybody with money and power who says, no, thanks, I’m good? Present company excluded.”
I thought of the politicians on TV, talking about Hart. “Is that why he was political? Like with the senator? And the representative?”
George nodded. “He has his head so far up that senator’s ass he’ll never see daylight.”
“What about that representative, the woman?”
“She’s not the one he cares about, it’s the senator. They know each other from school.”
“Law school?”
“I think so.” George snorted. “Hart will do anything for him. I think he’s angling for attorney general or like that. I been with Hart when Ricks calls. He jumps.”
“They know each other that well?”
“Yeah, I heard ’em once, on the phone talkin’ about the old days. Hart knows people in D.C. Once, Junior heard him talkin’ about the CIA.”
“The CIA? What about it?”
George shrugged. “I don’t know. Something about the CIA and Gitmo.”
My ears pricked up. “What about Gitmo?”
“I don’t know. I remember because I thought Junior said Gizmo. Milo corrected me.” George frowned. “Gitmo, Gizmo, who gives a shit? They had a good laugh at my expense.”
“Was Milo at Gitmo?”
“No.
“Was Hart?”
“No, but I think the senator was.”
“Ricks? Was he in the service, or a lawyer?” I had new questions. I needed my phone back. The answers could be public record.
“I don’t know. I don’t remember.”
I tried to think back, my mind racing. There were a lot of lawyers at Gitmo during my time there. I tried to remember if the senator had been one of them, earlier in his career. “You know, I was at Gitmo, starting back in 2002, 2003, the early days after 9/11.”
“The fucking terrorists. We go too easy on ’em.”
“Not all of them were terrorists. The government detained hundreds of people and sent them to Gitmo. The FBI handled the initial interrogations, but then the CIA came in, and all bets were off. They tortured those guys.”
“Good.” George poured another drink, but I kept talking, trying to figure it out.
“Anyway, the military started tribunals there, and they had to be transcribed. I was one of the court reporters.”
“I don’t know what it has to do with Milo.”
“Neither do I. I’m trying to figure it out.”
“Couple of my boys went to Cuba once. Said it was hot as hell.”
“Did Milo go?”
“No, not Milo. He was pissed, too. He loves the beach.”
I thought about Gitmo, casting about for ideas. “When I was down there, I didn’t see anybody but other court reporters. We had an office to ourselves. We transcribed the audiotapes from the hearings.”
George rolled his shot glass around on its bottom rim. “Hart loves that military shit. He used to call Ricks ‘the general.’？”
“Was he a general?”
“No, like, for a joke. But Ricks didn’t like that. I got the impression he wanted to keep it quiet.”
“Keep what quiet?”
“The military thing.”
I didn’t get it. “What candidate for president wants to play down his military service? Most of the time, they’re waving the flag.”
George shrugged. “Maybe it was Gitmo they kept on the down low.”
“Well, if it’s something to do with the detainees, they’d want to keep it all on the down low. None of that was good for the military, the CIA, or the CIA contractors.”
“You would know, you were there.” George’s gaze narrowed. “What if it’s about you?”
“Me?” I asked, surprised. “You think I’m the connection?”
“You thought Hart sent Milo because of your wife. What if it was because of you and Gitmo?”
I felt my mouth drop open. “Hart wants me killed because of something that happened at Gitmo?”
“Let me tell you something.” George pointed a thick finger. “Hart screws women who can do for him. Like I said, money or power. His wife is rotten rich, that’s why he married her.”
“What about Contessa? What could she do for him?”
“She’s the daughter of Penn PowerSavers. Hart gets their legal business because of her. That’s why he gave her the paralegal job. That’s why he screws her.”
I thought of Lucinda. “He just started seeing my wife a few months ago. She’s a photographer, and they met when she took his picture.”
“He called her for a picture?” George chuckled. “No, not Hart. He called her to get to you.”
The notion flipped my thinking. “So it’s not that Hart was having an affair with her, then tried to kill me. It’s that he started the affair to get to me?”
George wagged a thick finger. “But remember he’s working for the senator.”
“So there must be a connection to Ricks. Something I know about Gitmo or something I have that Ricks wants.”
“They could be looking for it.”
“Or trying to hide it.” I met George’s eye. “You burned down my office. All my Gitmo files are gone.”
“Shit happens.” George cocked his head. “Now you mention it, it was Milo’s idea.”
“He could have been trying to destroy a document or get to me somehow. Maybe there’s something I know, or they think I know, that they want to keep quiet.”