Free The Candidate by Paul Harris

belonged. One man in particular, Ivan Tobar, was an old friend who moved from Florida a year ago, following the trail of the immigrants. Tobar spent every waking hour of his week touring the trailer parks and cheap flophouses where the workers lived, informing them of their rights, calming their fears and trying to help them grasp at the better lives they sought. If anyone in Garden City knew of the arrival of Benitez — just another face in the anonymous flood of people flowing through town — it would be Tobar.
    Mike checked into a roadside motel and then drove out to find Tobar’s house. It was a collapsing bungalow in a dilapidated looking subdivision. A wire screen was half-hanging off the door frame as he knocked. He heard the rustle of someone coming into the door and then felt the firm grasp of Tobar sweeping him up in a bear hug.
    “Mike! You made it! Welcome to my little slice of paradise. Sorry, the weather isn’t as warm as Florida,” he said.
    Mike instantly felt the stress of the drive and his mission to find Benitez melt away in the warmth of his friend’s smile. Tobar took him inside into the living room, a place almost devoid of furniture save for a beat-up couch and a flickering TV It resembled the home of a student or unrepentant bachelor. Tobar went into the kitchen and returned carrying two cans of beer. He popped open one and handed the other to Mike, before the two men settled on the couch.
    “So, you’re with the Hodges campaign, huh?” Tobar asked. “Didn’t you hate all politicians?”
    “Yeah, I know. But this guy feels different somehow.”
    Tobar raised an eyebrow.
    “I know that sounds trite,” Mike said. “But I mean that. He can change things. He can even change things in a town like this, make it better for people. Stand up for the little guys.”
    Tobar was silent a moment. “Really?” he said. “Because we sure could do with some change around here.”
    His voice was strained, carrying it with the unimaginable tensions and stresses of his work. “I thought Florida could be bad. But out here, it’s like no one cares, man. This place is a machine and it chews up people more than the cattle. The immigrants come here, work for a pittance, then leave minus a finger or la migra sweeps them up. And the companies just roll on, raking in the profits.”
    Mike glanced out the window. Outside it was now dark. Tobar swigged his can and went to the kitchen to fetch another. When he came back he stood in the doorway and looked at Mike closely.
    “So what can I do for you, Mike? It’s good to see you but no one comes to Garden City on vacation.”
    Straight to the point. Typical Tobar. Mike did not beat about the bush either. He told Tobar he was looking for the cleaner of the room of the woman who tried to kill Hodges. He said he just wanted to talk. Nothing else. “The guy’s not in trouble. We’re just covering our bases here.”
    Tobar looked at him warily. “You for real on this?” he asked.
    Mike nodded.
    “You know, if I can find him here, your candidate will owe us a favor,” Tobar said. “If we get his back now, we’ll want him to have our back in the future. These guys need a friend in the White House.”
    Tobar was striking a deal. But it sounded like a good one. Mike offered his hand and Tobar took it.
    “I’ll see what I can do,” Tobar said.
     
    * * *
     
    DEE OPENED her eyes with surprise. She could not even remember falling asleep. But, as she glanced at her watch and saw that it was 6:00 a.m., she realized she must have dozed off at her desk. She was still in the back office of the campaign headquarters in Des Moines with the final polls and newspaper clippings spread in front of her. She shook her head and stumbled over to the coffee machine to make a cup of noxious, caffeine-laced liquid. Just before she put it to her lips, she paused and then fished in her handbag for a tiny bottle of gin poached from her hotel room’s mini-bar. She poured it into the