Balance of Power

    Once the Hamptons were gone, Lara leaned against Kerry's shoulder. "How was tonight?" he asked.

    "Good," she answered softly. "Sometimes, I almost forgot."

    Gently, Kerry kissed her. In two days she would commence a fifteencity tour to meet with victims and survivors.

* * *

"Why do it this way?" Tony Calvo asked Frank Fasano.

    The president of the Chamber of Commerce ate breakfast with Fasano in a private corner of the senators' dining room. Putting down his fork, Calvo added, "I think these lawsuits against gun companies are abusive. But the wake of the Costello murders is the absolute worst place to start."

    "It's also your only chance," Fasano answered. "You've never passed a bill. The voters don't much care. So my colleagues aren't scared or grateful enough to give you the sixty-seven votes you need to survive Kilcannon's vetoes.

    "The Chamber's been an equal opportunity donor to both Democrats and Republicans. The SSA supports us

—period. I can't dump them just because you ask me to, and you'd be foolish to ask. On the whole, our caucus is far more scared of them than you."

    Calvo glanced around the ornate room. At this early hour, eight o'clock, senators dined with lobbyists, contributors, or the occasional awed constituent—everyone but each other, Calvo reflected. "The Democrats," Calvo answered, "are scared of Kilcannon, and so are some Republicans. They're right to be. Once he finds out what you're doing, he'll make it all about guns."

    "And we'll have all the money and votes that go with them." Pausing, Fasano spoke softly. "How many votes do you have, Tony? Do you think the average American wakes up every morning hoping we'll immunize General Motors? Putting down the trial lawyers is not a top-tier issue for anyone but us. Guns are."

    Calvo sipped his coffee, peering at Fasano over the rim. "What do you want from us, Frank?"

    "What do you want?"

    "Ideally?" Calvo's tone became clipped, businesslike. "Restrictions on class actions. Caps on punitive damages and attorneys' fees. A law allowing companies to require mandatory arbitration in place of jury trials. Ditto peer review in medical malpractice cases . . ."

    "That's all?" Fasano inquired dryly.

    "Nope. We want as many cases as possible shifted to federal court. On average, federal judges are more conservative. Also, a defendant shouldn't be liable for all damages in a lawsuit just because a codefendant is bankrupt, like Arthur Andersen after Enron tanked. And your bill should raise the burden of proof in personal injury cases."

    "In your dreams," Fasano responded with a smile. "I can't get you all that, and still get enough Democrats to give us sixty-seven. But put together a coalition, Tony, and then send me a bill my staff can go to work on. Sooner rather than later."

    Calvo studied his empty cup. At length, he asked, "Do you want language on gun immunity?"

    Fasano suppressed any show of satisfaction. "No need," he assured Calvo. "We've got some language in mind."

    With that, Fasano went to his meeting with the Speaker of the House.

* * *

    "Why is it," Tom Jencks inquired with feigned disgust, "that the Senate is so candy-assed? My members would vote to immunize Lexington from lawsuits without breaking a sweat."

    Fasano smiled. "The 'people's House,' " he countered, "is so gerrymandered that maybe thirty-five out of four hundred thirty-five seats are even competitive. In the other four hundred, you could elect a tuna sandwich or a pedophile."

    "Democracy," Jencks noted comfortably, "works better as a theory. I truly feel for your burdens, Frank."

    "They are many," Fasano agreed. "And the biggest one is Palmer."

    "Indeed. I've been wondering how you'd get Sir Galahad to play along with this game of smoke and mirrors."

    "Hence this meeting," Fasano answered. "Give me a few minutes, Tom, to explain what you can do."

* * *

    When Fasano had finished, Jencks looked at him gravely, his bulky frame settling farther into Fasano's overstuffed leather chair.

    "I have to say, Frank, this one worries me. There's too much that can go wrong, too many moving parts—Mary Costello's supposed lawsuit, Kilcannon, Lenihan, controlling the SSA." Jencks spread his meaty hands in mock entreaty. "All that, and now you want me to fuck Chad Palmer for you."

    Fasano shrugged. "The SSA's called in its due bill, Tom. All we can do is make this better, or worse."

    "Better for you." Jencks's tone became tough and practical. "If you can pull this off, I suppose you deserve to be President."

    "It's a time for greatness," Fasano answered calmly. "In exchange for his help on gun immunity, I give Palmer a vote on his dream campaign reform bill—the signature moment of his career. And then you kill it in the House, or pass a bill so incompatible with Palmer's that both bills die in conference without reaching Kilcannon's desk. All I need to know is whether you've got the votes."

    Narrow-eyed, Jencks studied his fingernails. "What does the SSA say?" he inquired. "They hated Palmer's last reform bill worse than I did."