Oscar listened attentively.

“Y’know, the commander here was given no choice. No choice at all. It was pull this stunt, or watch his people starving in their barracks. There’s no funding now. There’s no fuel, no pay for the troops, no equipment, there is nothing. All because you silk-suit sons of bitches in Washington can’t get it together to pass a budget.”

“My man just got to Washington,” Oscar said. “We need a chance.”

“My man here is a decorated officer! He was in Panama Three, Iraq Two, he was in Rwanda! He’s no politician — he’s a goddamn national hero! Now the feds are cracking up, and the Governor’s gone crazy, but the commander, he’ll be the fall guy for this. When it’s all over, he’ll be the man who has to pay for everything. The committees will break him in half”

Oscar was calm. “That’s why I have to work in Washington.”

“What’s your party?”

“Senator Bambakias was elected with a thirty-eight percent plu-rality,” Oscar said. “He isn’t tied to any single party doctrine. He has multipartisan appeal.”

The PR man snorted. “What’s your party, I said.”

“Federal Democrat.”

“Aw Jesus.” The man ducked his head and waved one hand.

“Go home, Yankee. Go get a life.”

“We were just leaving,” Fontenot said, putting aside his un-touched bourbon. “You happen to know a good local restaurant? A Cajun place, I mean? It has to seat a dozen of us.”

The young guard at the door saluted politely as they left the hospital-ity building. Oscar carefully slipped his federal ID back into his eelskin wallet. He waited until they were well out of earshot before he spoke. “He may be dead drunk, but that guy sure knows the local restau-rants.”