According to Their Deeds (7 page)

“I’m so sorry.” Saying the wrong thing could bring torrential downpours, and Charles didn’t have an umbrella.

“It is sorry. It is a
disgrace
for Mr. Borchard, who is an appointed official, to act this way.”

“But tell me about yourself,” he said. “If you don’t mind. Derek spoke of you often.”

Her smile flashed out like a lighthouse through the gloom, and the gloom went running for its life.

“Mr. Beale, I am living the most
wonderful
life in the world.”

Somehow, no less an answer would have been right. “Tell me how you got to Congress. It must not have been easy.”

Every sentence brought out a different light source. Now it was a laser. “Nothing has ever been easy.”

“But I think you don’t let that stop you. You must be quite a fighter.”

“I have always fought, Mr. Beale. I
fought
my way into college, and into law school, and into every place I’ve ever been.”

Charles had settled back into his chair. The conversation had turned into a stump speech, one that Karen Liu had given many times. But the passion was fresh and pungent.

“I
fought
my way out of an alcoholic mother and a father who disappeared when I was two, and out of
poverty
and
racism
and
bigotry
and I will
keep
fighting for the
people
who are still in
chains
to poverty and racism and bigotry. That is what I
have
been doing, and that is what I will
continue
to do. You can read my biography, Mr. Beale, it’s on my website.”

“I preferred to meet you first.”

“Read it. Because when I looked at the
world
I lived in, the
ghettos
where I grew up, I had to
do
something about it. And I decided that here”—she waved her hand across the room—“
here
was the place to do it. And the people who
were
here
weren’t
doing anything. So I took them on, and
I won
.

“And it was not easy. I had to fight an entrenched political machine that had everything, and I didn’t have anything, and they spent every dollar and played every dirty trick they could. But they couldn’t fight the
people
, and the
people
knew who was on their side, and I won that primary by three thousand votes. And I have
repaid
the faith that those voters placed in me, and fought for
them
.”

There was a short break for applause from the audience.

“Ms. Liu,” Charles said, and it was far inferior to the wild cheers that should have filled the room. “I see why Derek thought so highly of you. I know how important money is in politics, and an entrenched machine will have a lot of it. Beating them by three thousand votes is amazing.”

“Many people were amazed,” she said, and she was no longer on a platform speaking to thousands, but eye to eye with a single person.

“And I am even more appreciative of your time when I realize what important work I’m keeping you from.” He shifted in his chair to stand, but the eyes did not release him.

“I am never too busy for a friend.” She seemed to be waiting for him to say something else.

“I’m honored to be considered one,” Charles said.

“I would like to see your books. Did you say that Derek came to your store?” No smile, just intensity.

“Yes, he did.”

“Then I will, too.” She smiled and the conversation became friendly again. “I’m
sure
it’s fascinating.”

“It is,” Charles said. “Yes, please come.”

“And did you have any other business with Derek?” There was still an undercurrent of expectation and questioning.

“No. That was all.”

“Did he ever discuss his work with you?”

“Not often. We usually discussed more philosophic subjects.”

“Did that include John Borchard?” It was a very direct question.

“Derek’s boss? No. I know just the little that Derek told me about him.”

“I would be interested to know what Derek told you.” She smiled, and again the gloom dispersed. “And Derek told you about me? I hope that was always positive.”

“Always.”

“Well! I hope so, and I hope he meant it. And now it is time for me to keep moving along.”

“Then thank you, Congresswoman. And I hope to see you at the shop sometime soon.”

“You will! Nothing could keep me away!”

“You really met with a congressperson?” Dorothy asked.

“I did,” Charles said as he got himself into his chair. “Really.”

“Is
Liu
oriental?”

“Yes. She is both black and Chinese, and barely tall enough to be just one, let alone two. But she is energetic enough for three or four. We had a very nice talk.”

“She must have had better things to do with her time.” She was skeptical, and disapproving, and amused. “What did you talk about?”

“About Derek, and about herself. She was very open.”

“To a perfect stranger?”

“It is her job to talk about herself. And I am hardly perfect.”

“Hardly. But even you should have known better than to bother her.”

“She could have said no,” Charles said. “And I was nearly as surprised as you that she didn’t.”

“Nearly?”

“You underestimate Derek Bastien. His name is a little key to certain doors.”

“There are other things that open doors. Did you ask her about those checks?”

“I did not, of course. But I hinted. I asked how hard it was to get elected that first time.” He gazed out toward the horizon, his jaw set. “It was very hard. Very hard! But she prevailed!”

“With five hundred thousand dollars’ worth of help.”

“Please, dear,” Charles said. “I am speaking of the people triumphing, and justice and all that, and you bring up sordid money?”

“I apologize,” she said, not. “I suppose she did not take your hint.”

“Well, it got fuzzy there. Or maybe I should say, it got very sharp. I don’t know. I’ll have to think it through.”

“And now that you’ve met her, would you say she is the ‘real thing’?”

“You know, despite what John Locke says about her, I think she is. But I need to make a comparison to be sure. Dorothy, who would you say was higher ranking—a congresswoman, or a Deputy Assistant Attorney General?”

“The congresswoman.”

“The Deputy has more syllables, even with her extra one for being a lady. I’m going to try my little key again.”

“You’re not going to call him, too!”

“I am.”

“Why are you doing this, Charles?”

“I’m wandering.”

“You’ll get lost.”

“But I haven’t come to a stopping place, yet.”

She sighed. “Then just tell me when I should tell you to give up.”

“I will.” He found the telephone book under the magazines on his desk. “Or else you won’t need to. I’m sure I’ll hit a dead end with this very high-ranking official. It would be foolishness for him to waste his time speaking to me.”

“Then why are you calling?”

“Just in case it isn’t.”

Dorothy turned back to her own desk while Charles found
Justice Department
under the government listing, and flamboyantly ignored him.

“I would like to speak with John Borchard,” he said to the voice that answered, and he waited through clicks and beeps until another voice said, “Office of Legislative Affairs.”

“I would like to speak with John Borchard,” he said again, and this time waited through beeps and clicks until another voice said, “Mr. Borchard’s office.”

“I would like to speak with John Borchard,” he said.

“Who is calling?”

“My name is Charles Beale.”

“Thank you. What is your position, Mr. Beale?”

“I’m a bookseller.”

For the first time in the whole smooth process, the gears clanked.

“Excuse me?”

“I sell antique books.”

“Do you have business with Mr. Borchard?”

“Not really. I only wanted to speak with him.”

“What about, Mr. Beale?” The gears were preparing to spin in the opposite direction, hard. Dorothy smirked.

“I used to do business with Derek Bastien.”

“Just a moment.”

All motion was brought to a halt. Charles waited. Dorothy did also, watching him over the top of her glasses.

“I am anticipating your rejection,” she said.

The telephone spoke. “Mr. Beale, could you come to Mr. Borchard’s office this afternoon at two thirty?”

He raised his left eyebrow right at her. “Two thirty,” he said. “I will be there.”

In Dorothy’s eyes, even indignation was beautiful.

“Charles. Why are you pestering these people, and why are they letting you?”

“I can’t guess their motives.”

“Or even your own.”

“Or yours. Why are you affronted?”

“It is embarrassing.”

“You feel embarrassed?”

“No! You should. And even worse, it is a waste of time.”

“Ah.” Charles smiled. “The ultimate crime.”

“It is. Go ahead, have your fun, and don’t come running to me when they throw you in prison.”

“I wouldn’t be able to.” He was suddenly startled. “Angelo. I didn’t see you.”

From the doorway, Angelo frowned. “Hey, boss. What do you do, that you go in a prison?”

“Impersonating an adult,” Dorothy said.

“Oh.” Angelo shrugged. “I am going out.”

“All right,” Charles said. “Thank you.”

“How do you do that?”

“What?”

“What she said.
Impersonating
.”

“You do things she does not approve of,” Charles said.

Angelo jerked his head in disbelief. “And you go to jail?”

“Yes. She is a woman not to be trifled with, Angelo, and I know it well.”

AFTERNOON

“I’ll be out for the afternoon,” Charles said to Alice as he passed through the showroom. “Have we sold anything?”

“That big, illustrated 1940
Wizard of Oz
.”

“That’s who I’m off to see.”

Behind was the bright yellow-brick road, and ahead was the Emerald City with its imposing sign: Department of Justice.

Charles stepped through the portal. “My name is Charles Beale. I’m here to see John Borchard. I have an appointment.”

The woman and the counter both were wooden and imposing. “Just a moment, Mr. Beale.”

It was a long, slow, wooden moment. Official ladies and gentlemen with badges and serious faces passed by.

“Someone will be down in a moment, Mr. Beale.”

“Thank you.”

“Please sign in. This is your badge.”

“Thank you.”

Another moment. The moments were very long here in the shadows.

“Please follow me, Mr. Beale.”

He followed through dim corridors. Justice was indeed blind; anyone in these dark halls would be.

Then a doorway—from gray farmhouse into bright-colored Munchkinland.

“Just a moment, Mr. Beale.”

He was in another of the building’s many places to wait; but this bright-lit moment was brief.

An enormous bald head appeared. “How do you do? I’m John Borchard.”

“Charles Beale.”

There was a normal body beneath John Borchard’s large head, clothed in a dark, serious suit. The face spread across the front of the head was serious, too, but capable of many emotions in only a few seconds. Even as Charles lifted his hand, the seriousness shifted through interest and anticipation to pleasure.

“I am so glad you called,” he said. “Please come into my office.”

The office was larger than the head. Charles was set on a supple, wine-red leather couch, beneath historic American paintings that needed as large a room as this in which to be properly displayed. Yards away, it seemed, was an immense desk, capable of properly displaying a Deputy Assistant Attorney General.

John Borchard chose a matching chair closer to Charles.

“Thank you so much for seeing me,” Charles said.

“It’s a pleasure.” The voice was of bassoons and cellos. “So you knew Derek?” The head tilted at that profound thought. “What a tragedy.”

“Certainly,” Charles said. His own voice was rather reedy and oboe-ish.

“And you are an antiquarian?”

“I deal in antique books. I met Derek through his collecting.”

“Yes, his collecting.” Each phrase was a plaque in sound, dark wood with the words engraved in brass. “He was quite a collector. In many ways. But what can I do for you today, Mr. Beale—Charles?”

“Well . . . not really anything. I only wanted to meet you. As someone who knew Derek.”

Mr. Borchard—John?—nodded. “I understand. Absolutely. An odd thing, isn’t it? Yet I think anyone who knew him would understand. It was the quality of the man.”

“There was a quality.”

“There was. I can’t tell you how much he is missed here. He’d been with me for over ten years.”

“I’d known him about six years.”

“How well?” One eyebrow climbed high. “Had you been his guest, even?”

“I did get in the front door a few times,” Charles said.

The other eyebrow rose up to its fellow. “Ah. A game or two of chess?”

“A game or two.”

A grand smile stretched the lower part of the face while the eyebrows expanded the upper. “He was quite good, wasn’t he?”

“He was very good.”

“Yes, I learned my lesson early on, that some battles are hopeless.” What a big smile he had. “And I declined further contests. So you were quite into the inner circle, then.”

“It was a large circle.”

“Very, but close in, nonetheless. And your entrée was books.”

“He purchased a dozen or so through the years.”

“Did you supply all his books?”

“Only the antique volumes.”

“I remember them on his shelves. Did he buy from anyone else?”

Charles smiled. “Not that he told me.”

“Nor would he have! Would he? He wouldn’t have told you. So we don’t really know.”

“I never saw any others.”

“Then we’ll say he didn’t. He wasn’t usually so loyal with his dealers.”

“It would have been fine, of course,” Charles said. “Most collectors cultivate a network of suppliers.”

“And he certainly cultivated his suppliers. He was absolutely a collector.”

“He had a diverse collection.”