Free The Porkchoppers by Ross Thomas

him Don, talked about how lucky he was to have their support, repeatedly mentioned the sacrifices that had gone into raising the $25,000, and toward the end Old Man Garfield had drawn Cubbin over into a corner where he delivered a nice little lecture on temperance.
    Cubbin by then had drunk just enough bourbon to make him almost reckless and he was thinking about how fine it would be to tell Old Man Garfield to take his $25,000 and shove it when Audrey Denn came into the room and told him that his call to Washington was ready. Cubbin stuck out his hand to Old Man Garfield and said, “It’s always an experience being with you, Lloyd, and knowing that I can count on you for advice on just about anything.”
    â€œJust you remember that little piece I gave you about you know what,” Garfield said and winked hugely. Cubbin winked back. “You bet,” he said.
    â€œWe’ll see her through, Don,” Garfield said. “Just keep the faith, baby, like the nigger congressman used to say.”
    Cubbin turned from Garfield, not bothering to disguise his wince, and left the task of talking to Garfield and his committee to Sadie and Oscar Imber and Charles Guyan. Followed closely by Fred Mure, Cubbin headed for room B of the suite. As he entered, Audrey Denn spoke into the phone she was holding. “I have Mr. Cubbin for you now, Mr. Penry.”
    Cubbin took the phone and waved a hand of dismissal. Audrey Denn nodded and headed for the door. So did Fred Mure. Cubbin covered the phone and hissed, “Not you, Fred.” Into the phone he said, “How are you, Walter?”
    In his Washington office on Seventeenth Street near L, Walter Penry had the desk speaker on. His office had all the trappings that W. & J. Sloane thought that a successful executive’s office should have. There was a sunburst clock on the fabric-covered walls, some tweedy-looking couches and chairs, a kidney-shaped coffee table, some “English style” prints of Washington scenes, and an immense walnut desk that he had purchased secondhand from a cabinet member whose spendthrift notions on how he thought the government should decorate his office had created such a furor in the press that he had finally had to sell off his fancy fixtures and settle for General Service Administration issue. Penry had also bought the cabinet member’s pale gold drapes that were real silk.
    Penry was leaning well back in his burnt-orange leather executive chair, his feet cocked up on his desk. Across from him, seated in two tweedy armchairs, were the two principal associates of Walter Penry and Associates, Inc., Peter Majury and Ted Lawson. Majury wore an attentive expression on his thin face. Lawson looked as if he expected to hear something funny, but he usually looked that way.
    After Cubbin and Penry exchanged pleasantries about their respective families and the weather, Penry said, “What’s all this I hear about you having a little opposition this time out, Don?”
    In the Chicago hotel room, Cubbin beckoned to Fred Mure. “It’s not too bad,” he said into the phone. “I think we’ll be able to handle it all right.”
    Fred Mure took a half-pint of the Ancient Age from his pocket, unscrewed the cap, and handed the bottle to Cubbin who took two deep swallows. In Washington, the sound of Cubbin’s breathy exhalation came clearly over the speaker and Peter Majury made a careful note about it on a yellow legal pad.
    â€œWell, look, Don, are you going to be in Chicago tomorrow?” Penry said.
    â€œUntil Monday or Tuesday.”
    â€œThe boys and I would like to get together with you tomorrow, if we could. We’ve been kicking around some ideas and we might even be of some use to you.”
    â€œI’d always like to see you, Walter, you know that,” Cubbin said, “but I’d better tell you right now we’re running a shoestring campaign and I don’t think