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“Stopped to have a drink,” he said, shrugging.
From the looks of his eyes, it wasn’t one drink. Three at least. And liquor worked one of two ways on him. One, it made him horny and handsy. Or two, it made him short-tempered.
I was silently praying for horny and handsy. The late-night host was male. So that wasn’t likely to be as big of a problem.
We had about two hours until the show. Hopefully that was enough time to sober him up.
Until then, maybe it was time to try to take advantage of his lowered inhibitions.
I clicked on my recording app, then moved over toward where he was sitting on the couch, yanking at his tie.
“You did great today,” I told him. “I think polls are going to show things turning back in our favor. But I think we need to revisit that conversation we were having a few days ago,” I said, heart starting to hammer, some part of me knowing that this was it, that I was finally going to get what I needed to prove his connection to organized crime.
“Refresh my memory,” he said, lounging back, looking like he was ten minutes away from a nap. And that might be the best thing for him.
But first…
“About possible skeletons in your closet,” I reminded him. “Anything at all that, if it got out, might lead to bad press,” I told him. “Any other affairs…”
“Just the one,” he said.
“Or unsavory connections…”
To that, he sucked in a deep breath, seeming lost in thought. Like the Russians weren’t even at the forefront of his mind.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” I said, pretending like this wasn’t even related. “We got a call today from a man who wanted to speak to you. He had a really thick accent. Maybe Ukrainian… or Russian,” I said, throwing a hand up at my pretend eureka moment.
“Russian?” Michael asked, sitting up, posture going stiff.
“Is that someone important?” I asked, tone pure innocence.
“Fuck,” he said, leaning his elbows on his knees and cradling his head in his hands.
“Senator, what is it?” I asked. Then, at his silence, “I can’t help if I don’t know what’s going on.”
There was another, shorter pause. And then, finally, he started to speak. “I think I got myself in over my head,” he said, shaking his head.
“With whom? The man who called?”
“Yeah,” he admitted.
“Who is he?” I asked.
“He’s… the head of the Russian mob.”
This was it! Finally. I just needed him to admit the bribe to do their bidding and it was all in the bag.
“Okay,” I said, tone suggesting this was no big deal, that I dealt with this sort of thing all of the time. “Why is he trying to contact you?”
“Because I haven’t done what he needs me to do.”
“What could he need you to do?”
“It involves someone in his organization that is going to trial.”
“I see. Why would that have anything to do with you?”
“Because I might have… accepted a campaign contribution from them.”