Stumbling Forward: Chapters 37-39

Previously published samples available here.

Preview chapters from the sequel, A Referendum on Conscience, available here.

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Chapter 37

Wednesday, April 11

“I think it’s time you all started asking him the tough questions, like where he got his money. If he can put out a press release saying he raised $1.1 million this quarter, there’s no reason he has to wait until next Monday to release the names of his big contributors.”

Clarissa Rogers enjoyed this part of her job. Sure, working with Alex Hogan on a daily basis was like a root canal procedure that never ended, but standing in front of reporters in the state Capitol Press Briefing Room was a rush that never got old. The idea for this press conference came to her the evening before, about 30 seconds after she saw that Patrick Trafton’s campaign had sent out a press release highlighting his breathtaking fundraising total.

It was Wednesday, April 11, just three days before the Democratic-Farmer-Labor Party’s 7th Congressional District endorsement convention. The full fundraising reports didn’t have to be filed with the Federal Elections Commission until Monday and by then it would be too late. Everyone in Minnesota politics knew there was no way all of Trafton’s money came from liberals. Now it was time for him to own up to it.

“He’s trying to have it both ways,” Clarissa continued. “He wants to wow everyone with his fundraising prowess, but doesn’t want to disclose the fact that his campaign is rich because it has the support of people who have traditionally played both sides of the aisle. What kind of congressman will that make him? Someone who will stand up for public school students, consumers and the environment? Or someone who will stand up for the big-money folks on Lake Minnetonka?”

Carter Jennings looked on from the back of the room. He enjoyed watching her work and was especially pleased that she lost a contact lens that morning and was forced to wear her black-framed, librarian-style glasses. She thought they made her look old. He thought they made her look sexy.

“Clarissa,” asked Bruce Thomas from WCCO Radio. “This is all very interesting, but isn’t this just a way for the Hogan campaign to paper over the fact that it’s losing? Every delegate count I’ve seen shows Trafton could win this thing on the first ballot.”

“No. Democrats have a right to know who’s funding their candidates. It’s time for Patrick Trafton to show his hand, to lay down his cards—unless, of course, he has something to hide.”

Next Clarissa called on Abigail Swenson from Minnesota Public Radio.

“I talked with an official from the Trafton campaign just before this press conference started and they told me, and I quote, this is just another example of the Hogan campaign going negative. How do you all respond to that?”

“Abigail, isn’t it interesting that each time someone tries to point out Mayor Trafton’s record, he cries about negative politics? In this entire campaign, he has never once defended his record when pressed. Each time, it’s negative politics this, negative politics that. It’s his read-between-the-lines way of saying he has no intention of answering any tough questions about his judgment or his fitness for office.”

As she answered questions about the inside-baseball of political fundraising, Clarissa couldn’t help thinking about the photos of Trafton and Karen Abbott going at it on the coffee table in his living room. She wondered how the reporters who fawned all over him would react to that.

“Absolutely not,” she said in response to a question about whether Hogan was holding Trafton to a higher standard than he holds himself. “That’s why Brian Sorensen, with the video camera over there, will be passing out a complete list of everyone who’s given our campaign more than $200 as of March 30.”

She ended the question-and-answer session with remarks she hoped would goad Trafton into doing something stupid.

“The mayor’s talked a lot about his leadership ability over the last few months and that’s fine. That’s something candidates should do. Now it’s time for him to man up and prove it, unless he’s scared of the truth and terrified about how delegates might react when they get to see the real Patrick Trafton.”

*****

Back at the campaign headquarters Carter couldn’t contain himself as he read the Trafton campaign’s response on the Pioneer Press website.

“I can’t believe I let this girl seduce me,” he said to Brian Sorensen, not noticing that Clarissa had walked into the room.

“She seduced you?” She didn’t know who they were talking about, but loved the notion of Carter as the victim.

“Holly Schaffer,” Carter said. “She’s a lot more cunning than you’d think reading this crap. ‘The Hogan campaign is making unfair requests of the mayor, who’s far too busy to meet their demands because he’s campaigning.’”

“Yes,” Clarissa said. “She’s quite the deep thinker. But Trafton will be responding to us somehow.” She handed him her BlackBerry, which was open to a report on the Gopher State Observer blog. Trafton had a press conference at the Capitol starting in an hour.

“Brian,” Carter said. “We’re going to need some beers for this.”

*****

“Minnesotans have never backed away from a fight and that’s why I’m standing before you today. I love this state and I love my country too much to simply stand by and watch while Congresswoman Hansen and her allies on Capitol Hill try to destroy everything we’ve worked so hard to build.”

Even Ron Gartner was impressed as he listened to Hogan rehearse the speech Clarissa wrote for him. For the first time in weeks the candidate seemed focused on the task at hand.

“We’re at a crossroads and it is a time for choosing. Do we go forward into the future stronger than ever or do we take comfort in the false promises offered by the other side—that we can somehow retreat and retract ourselves to greatness?”

Clarissa was happy as Hogan nailed every line—on education, the environment, infrastructure and veterans issues. She’d have some re-writes between now and Friday night, but was otherwise pleased with her writing and his delivery.

“What we say here today, Democrats, is important, but the people outside this convention hall will soon forget if our actions moving forward aren’t equal to the words we speak from this lectern.

“Our challenge today is to leave this convention prepared to do more than just beat Tara Gunderson Hansen. Yes, we have to win in November, don’t get me wrong, but more important than that, we must be equal to the task after Election Day. That’s what we’ll ultimately be judged on when our children and grandchildren look back on what we did here in the early years of the 21st century. Did we stand up? Or did we take the easy way out? I know how I want to answer that question.

“Every generation of Minnesotans and each generation of Americans has boldly and courageously met the challenges that defined this nation. Now it’s our turn. We are just as talented, just as smart and just as strong as our parents and our grandparents. There’s nothing we can’t do to build the next great era in American history. Now it’s our time to prove it.

“Thank you so much for being here today. Thank you so much for everything you’re doing for our party. And thank you so much for all your work to make our state America’s guiding star. Thank you very much. God bless you and God bless the United States of America.”

As Hogan finished the 9-minute speech, Gartner was the first person standing.

“Bravo, Alex! Great job!”

Everyone else in the room was pumped up, as well. The candidate seemed ready for the convention. Clarissa was about to congratulate Hogan and talk about some changes she wanted to make, but Gartner wasn’t done talking.

“See, Clarissa! Those things I was telling you about—marketing and stuff—really work! The answer is Alex Hogan. Add that.” He was taking credit for a speech he didn’t even know Hogan had to give until this morning.

“Yep,” she said as she scribbled “asshole” on a notepad. “I don’t know what we’re going to do after you leave on Sunday.”

“You’ll get through. I’ve taught you well.”

*****

Clarissa and Carter hunched over the laptop in her office to watch the livestream of Trafton’s Capitol press conference on the KARE-11 television news website. They both knew nobody really cares about campaign contributors. By coming clean, Trafton could easily steal away a huge chunk of their momentum, but this was the only play they had and they ran it well. Now it was the mayor’s turn.

“Thank you for coming today,” the mayor said. “I’m here to respond to the baseless attacks leveled against my campaign earlier today and to say that these attacks are untrue and unfair.”

“Thank God,” Clarissa whispered as she lowered her head closer to the laptop’s speakers. Carter was recording this and hoped to have something to convert into an advertisement that could be e-mailed to Democrats across the district, including the 180 convention delegates.

“The people who give me money love America and love Minnesota and there’s no reason their character should come under attack. For that reason, I will not release their names one minute earlier than required by federal law.”

Carter threw his arms into the air. Victory. “I will not release their names one minute earlier than required by federal law” would be the refrain line in the Web ad he was already writing in his head. He blocked out the rest of the world while he imagined which of Clarissa’s comments could be spliced in with Trafton’s evasion.

“He’s not taking questions!” she screamed, jarring Carter back to the moment.

“Holy shit, he’s not. What an idiot.”

They watched Trafton and his team walk out of the Press Briefing Room and then started jumping up and down like they had just won the World Series, Super Bowl, NBA Finals and Stanley Cup all rolled into one. They hugged and he lifted her high off the ground as Gartner walked in.

“What’s going on in here?”

“He’s not taking any questions,” Clarissa shouted, still excited about their victory. Gartner had no idea what she meant. Three hours later, every Democrat in the 7th Congressional District with an e-mail address would know all about it.

“Well, keep it down,” Gartner said. “I’m strategizing out there. We’ve got a big day coming.”

Chapter 38

Friday, April 13-Saturday, April 14

The night before the Democratic-Farmer-Labor Party’s 7th Congressional District endorsement convention, Winston Marshall read and re-read Brian Sorensen’s latest report on the delegates. The main room of campaign headquarters was bustling as staff and volunteers pulled together materials for the convention, but Winston was oblivious to all of it. He couldn’t believe the numbers he was seeing.

Those damn kids did it again, he thought, as he triple-checked Sorenson’s detailed memo. Patrick Trafton’s support was falling off. A week ago, he had 91 delegates at least leaning toward supporting him. Now it was just 77. Meanwhile, Alex Hogan’s support had increased from 40 to 61. With 108 delegates needed to declare victory, 42 remained undecided. With a little luck, Hogan could actually win this thing or at the very least block endorsement and neutralize the party’s power brokers heading into the primary.

He walked over to Clarissa’s office where she and Carter were re-working the entire speech. They had read the same report and knew now they had to go into full-court persuasion mode. Earlier, they were setting the stage for a primary election and writing a speech to springboard into a contest beyond 180 delegates. Now they had a real chance to actually win the endorsement. It was time to go for broke.

“Clarissa,” Winston said as he entered the room. “It’s time to re-write the speech. We can win this thing.”

She handed him an early draft without looking up from her laptop. She was working on the third draft. She hoped to have something Hogan could rehearse in two hours. She hated cutting it this close with him, but the changes were unavoidable.

Winston read as he stood in the doorway.

“The DFL Party is always at its best when it casts aside stale and cynical political calculations and takes the course self-professed experts call impassable,” Clarissa had written an hour earlier. “Rebecca McElroy, who’s here today, wasn’t the favorite of the elites in St. Paul, but now she’s the soul of the Senate. Congressman Duane Jackson wasn’t the so-called smart bet and today he’s making us proud in the House of Representatives.

“We can do that again. I realize I’m not perfect, but my heart is in the right place and I will work day and night to earn your full support beyond this convention and win in November because Tara Gunderson Hansen, right now, is plotting day and night to destroy everything we worked so hard to build.

“We will never match the Republicans if we play ‘politics as usual.’ It’s a tired phrase, I know, but there’s a lot of truth in it—including the fact that our party loses more often than not when we take that course. I don’t know about you, but the stakes are too high to let Tara Gunderson Hansen have two more years to dismantle public education. The stakes are too high to let her have another crack at privatizing Social Security, at gutting veterans’ programs, at denying civil rights to our friends in the GLBT community. We can beat her in November, but only if we play our game, not theirs.”

It was gutty, but Winston urged her to continue. Delegates, hard-core party activists, usually loved an opportunity to support the underdog, but they had to be given a good reason to do so.

“Our boy’s no Rebecca McElroy or Duane Jackson, but if he can carry this off, we might just win it.”

Clarissa was on her third cup of coffee in the last hour and didn’t look up as Winston spoke. Carter was reading over her shoulder and hadn’t done anything to acknowledge Winston was even in the room. The older man was impressed.

“Keep on slugging, kids,” he said as he left.

“Yep,” Clarissa mumbled.

“What?” Carter asked.

“I think Winston was in here talking.”

“Really? Wow.”

*****

At 10 p.m., Alex Hogan had his new speech in hand and was finishing up his second rehearsal in his back office.

“That’s why I’m a Democrat! That’s why Democrats must win! And that’s why when we come back here in two years for this convention, it won’t be to beat Tara Gunderson Hansen. We’re going to be re-electing a Democrat!

“Thank you very much for being here today. Thank you for your hard work. Thank you for everything you’re doing to change America. God bless you and may he continue to bless the United States of America!”

Everyone in the room clapped, even the cynical Carter.

“Nice job, sir,” he said.

“This is perfect, Clarissa,” Hogan said. “Let’s win this thing tomorrow, guys. I know we can do it.”

The candidate left to get some sleep. Winston was about to speak, but Ron Gartner was first to open his mouth.

“Guys, I just want to say it’s been an honor for me to teach you all a little about politics and marketing,” he said to a collective eye roll. “A month ago we were dead in the water, but those radio ads and the new slogan really seem to have turned things around for us. Tomorrow at the convention I’ll have my cell phone. Please don’t do anything to change the strategy without consulting with me first.”

It was a combination of the caffeine, the adrenaline rush from writing and pent up anger that compelled Clarissa to speak.

“So, Gartner, you’re leaving Sunday, right?”

“That’s the last day I’m paid for, yes. Unless the campaign decides to keep me on board, of course.”

Winston, Carter and Brian watched her intently. Everyone had a good idea about what was coming and nobody wanted to stop it.

“In the month that you’ve been here, you have messed up just about everything you touched,” she said. “We’re not in a position to win because of those stupid ads and that stupid slogan. We’re in a position to win because the people that were here long before you are very talented and have given everything they have to this campaign.”

“I don’t know what you’re getting at, young lady, but I think everyone else in this room won’t argue with the fact that I was brought in to deliver and I have.”

“Dude,” Carter said. “What she’s getting at is get the fuck out now. You’re no longer needed. You’ve been paid. There’s the door.”

“See ya,” Brian said, pointing at the door.

Gartner turned to appeal the ruling to Winston, but the real campaign manager was unmoved.

“Looks like you’ve been voted off the island, Ron,” Winston said, doing his best to conceal a smile. “I suggest you leave or I’ll have Mr. Jennings and Mr. Sorensen show you to the door.”

Gartner was stunned as he slowly walked out.

“It’s your funeral, losers. We’ll see how you people do without a leader.”

Nobody said anything for the first minute after he left. Carter finally broke the silence.

“This is the day we took our campaign back,” he said. “We own it now. There’s no turning back.”

“Since Carter stole my line,” Winston said, “I’ll take his. Clarissa, you are awesome.”

When they got back into the main room, Carter and Brian lifted her onto their shoulders as the volunteers and other staffers looked on. They didn’t know what happened behind closed doors, but saw Gartner storm off and loved it.

“All hail the conquering hero,” Winston announced as the guys carried Clarissa to the center of the room where she received a standing ovation.

“Well, thank you,” she said from her perch atop Brian’s left shoulder and Carter’s right. “Some people are born to greatness and others have it thrust upon them—”

“Yes,” Carter said. “We know—and then there’s you.”

“If it appears I’ve reached new heights,” she continued, “it’s because I sit on the shoulders of giants. Literally, either I’m freakishly short or you guys are too tall.”

They continued for a few more minutes before Winston brought them back to reality.

“Enjoy this tonight, kids,” he said. “Because starting tomorrow we have to earn it.”

*****

Nervous energy was driving the Hogan campaign as the team arrived at Faribault Senior High School early on Saturday, April 14. Winston had tossed and turned all night in St. Croix Heights. Clarissa didn’t fall asleep until 3 a.m. and Carter stayed up all night watching ESPN.

By 10 a.m., more than 500 people were crammed into the school’s auditorium. There were 180 delegates, 180 alternate delegates and at least 150 other party activists on hand, eager to get a look at their choices. If things held together, the convention could carry on well into the evening. Based on his conversations with delegates, Brian thought if Hogan showed strength early he would pick up support in each successive round of voting.

First up on the agenda was a question-and-answer session with the candidates. They had debated seven times before—short of the 15 once proposed—but there was still plenty of excitement as Hogan and Trafton were announced and bounded up to the stage.

“I’m holding my breath,” Clarissa whispered to Carter as the convention’s host explained the format. “We’ve spent an hour a day on this.”

“You’ve done your part. He’s up for this.”

“You really think so?”

“No,” he said, smiling. “But he’s as ready as he’ll ever be.”

For 20 minutes the candidates took shots at Congresswoman Hansen and pledged fidelity to the party platform as they outlined positions everyone had heard countless times. Then they were asked what makes them, specifically, the best candidate to beat Hansen.

“I’ve won three elections before,” Trafton said. “St. Croix Heights is a ‘purple’ town, split pretty even between DFLers and Republicans, but I’ve accomplished a lot by finding common ground to get things done. That’s what people in the 7th Congressional District, the voters who aren’t attending either party convention, are looking for. They share our values, but they need someone willing to reach out to them and talk about why our values really match up with theirs. We’re better on agriculture, education, transportation and everything. I’m going to work 24/7 selling that point door-by-door and person-by-person.”

It was another vanilla response, but the crowd applauded politely. Now it was Hogan’s turn.

“I think you should look at Patrick’s record as mayor. It’s not good, but for some reason lots of people are supporting him. I don’t get it.”

Clarissa gasped and about half the people on the convention floor started booing. Hogan was undeterred.

“I’ve been inspiring people since last July with my record as a businessman and the nobility of this cause. He hasn’t done anything worth supporting.”

The host tried to interject, repeating the rule about personal attacks, but Hogan kept talking.

“If you want to win in November,” he concluded, “don’t support Trafton.”

A half hour later, beloved Sen. McElroy gift-wrapped the endorsement for the mayor, volunteering to replace his wife as the person who would officially put his name up for the delegates’ consideration. Mr. and Mrs. Trafton readily agreed.

By 12:30 p.m. it was over. After McElroy’s glowing speech and Hogan’s angry and distracted rendition of what he had practiced the night before, Trafton won 131 delegates on the first ballot.

Chapter 39

Monday, April 30

“Jesus Christ,” Carter Jennings said as he looked at the initial polling data of likely Democratic-Farmer-Labor Party primary voters while sitting behind Winston Marshall’s desk at campaign headquarters. With a month and five days to go until the election, nearly 70 percent of the potential voters knew Alex Hogan and Patrick Trafton, a good sign. Of the likely participants in the intra-party contest, however, 54 percent favored Trafton to just 34 percent for Hogan.

Carter hated polls and was especially annoyed by the fact that even though 30 percent of respondents admitted to not knowing either candidate, only 12 percent of Democrats were undecided. He was reminded of the old Winston Churchill quote: “The best argument against democracy is a five-minute conversation with the average voter.”

Things would’ve been much easier if Hogan hadn’t imploded at the convention 16 days ago. If he had won, he’d have all the party’s resources at his disposal. If he had forced a draw, a no endorsement, at least the institutional powers would be officially neutralized. Instead, DFL-funded radio ads on behalf of Trafton were already airing, a couple direct mail pieces had gone out and Trafton had yet to spend any of his own money.

“This isn’t good,” Winston said, thumbing through the report as he sat across from Carter in a chair usually reserved for visitors. “Can we afford to go on the air earlier?”

“No,” Carter said. “If we want to run ads in a critical mass, so they’ll stand out, we’re stuck waiting until we’re two weeks out. What we have can do pretty well over two or three weeks, but if we try to spend it over a month we’re going to get drowned out.”

The Hogan team actually had a little bit more to spend. In the first few days after the convention, nearly $75,000 mysteriously appeared through donations on the campaign website. Ian Gaffer’s research showed much of that came from Republicans. It was Tara Gunderson Hansen’s supporters having a little fun, trying to trip up Trafton—or at least make him spend more money to advance past Hogan. Winston decided to keep it in reserve. He didn’t like the idea of using Hansen’s people to beat Trafton.

“We’ll get on the radio on May 15, but we’ll have to use the Republican money,” Carter added. “We still have to wait on TV or else we’re just dripping ads out there with little effect.”

“Let’s do that then,” Winston said.

Carter still wasn’t sure what to do with the photos Hank Wright had delivered. Clarissa Rogers was leaning toward using them and Winston didn’t know they existed. They wanted him to have deniability for as long as possible.

“What’s the schedule look like?” Carter knew Winston was having trouble getting Hogan in front of DFL audiences since the party establishment was firmly behind Trafton, but he had to ask. Earned media, getting in newspapers and on TV because of local events, was important to lay the groundwork for paid media.

“We’ve got an American Legion thing tomorrow in Shakopee,” Clarissa said, standing with her back against the wall by the door. “Trafton’s schedule looks good, though. Big event tonight with the speaker of the House.”

Democrats in St. Paul and Washington were playing for keeps. Speaker Bridget McPherson, a liberal from Boston, was due to make three appearances in the coming weeks to rally the base on Trafton’s behalf. The Hogan campaign, meanwhile, had four volunteers left and just three paid staffers in addition to Carter and Winston, who were still working for nothing.

“Assholes,” Carter said as he left Winston’s office. He absolutely hated the Washington crowd and couldn’t stand the fact they were going to throw everything they had at his hapless candidate.

“It’s going to get worse,” Winston told Clarissa. “These people are going to crush us. Anything we can do to get Alex out there, do it. I don’t care. He can have press conferences on his own nobility, so long as we get his name out there.”

Clarissa was already doing some of this via e-mail to Democrats across the district, though since the convention about 25 percent of the people on their list opted-out, taking their e-mail addresses out of the campaign’s database.

“I wonder what song the band played when the Titanic was sinking,” she said.

“Nearer, My God, to Thee.” Winston was the master of historical trivia.

“That should be our anthem then,” Clarissa said as she stared at the polling data.

*****

“You all took a good look at the candidates in this race and settled on the best: Patrick Trafton!”

When Speaker McPherson became House minority leader 10 years ago, the Democrats were an almost irrelevant force. Today, under her leadership, they controlled 298 of 435 seats. She saw Trafton as someone who could get her to the 300-seat majority she always wanted.

“Patrick Trafton is a man of character,” McPherson continued as she stood before a crowd of nearly 500 people in the auditorium at Shakopee High School. “He’s a man of experience and talent. He’s the kind of leader I need in the House of Representatives so we can continue moving forward on protecting the environment, improving education and building the brighter, stronger future America deserves and needs.”

For 15 minutes, McPherson worked the crowd of die-hard Democrats into a frenzy, well aware they would be the ones to drag their friends and neighbors to the polls for the June 5 primary. By the time it was Trafton’s turn to speak, the crowd would’ve done anything to help him win.

“Thank you, Madam Speaker, for your leadership and, of course, that gracious introduction. I hope I prove myself worthy of it one day soon,” Trafton said, with his wife, Cathy, standing by his side and holding the hand of Max, their 4-year-old son.

The Trafton campaign had polling data that showed roughly the same information Hogan’s team had reviewed just a few hours ago. He was pumped up and couldn’t wait to get through the primary so he could turn his attention toward defeating Tara Gunderson Hansen.

“We’re in for a tough fight,” he said. “Tara Gunderson Hansen is a force to be reckoned with and we’re not going to beat her unless we all come together and go street-by-street and door-by-door to take our positive message directly to the people. But first we have to win the primary election and I know Alex Hogan—”

The crowd booed at the mention of Hogan, who they expected to concede the nomination battle to Trafton after the endorsement convention. Instead Hogan left without even congratulating the winner.

“No, no,” Trafton said, holding a hand in the air. “He’s a good man who just has a different vision than most of us on how to best build our party. Don’t get me wrong, I want to kick his back side for the next few weeks, but then we have to come together and get this thing done.”

*****

Carter questioned his sanity as he walked from his condo to the River View Bar & Grill. He was on his way to meet Susan Paxon from the Minnesota Values Coalition and was quite surprised she not only took his call, but agreed to meet immediately.

With Hogan taking on water each day, he was looking for a homerun play. Tonight’s goal was to gauge Susan’s interest in taking out Trafton. He had all the ammunition she’d need, but her group would have to do the work. It was the only way he could think of getting the mayor’s pictures into circulation without completely ruining the name of everyone involved with the Hogan campaign.

He got to the door and considered turning around and heading home. This is a stupid idea, he said to himself, but walked in anyway.

“Susan, how are you?” If he really cared he wouldn’t have disappeared on her the morning after their first meeting in this bar a year earlier.

“Carter Jennings, to what do I owe the honor?”

“I just thought it’d be fun to catch up.” Normally he was a good liar, but this one was as blatantly phony as could be.

“So you’re working for Alex Hogan? Why?”

“Long story. How are things with the, what is it, bring back the Old Testament—”

“The Minnesota Values Coalition. Defending traditional values, which someone has to do around here.”

“Right.”

They ordered drinks and he amused himself by thinking about how uncomplicated she was the first time they met. Traditional values my ass. This girl was a freak and he figured most of her self-professed morally superior friends were, too.

“So,” he asked. “What do you all think about the 7th?”

“Your guy is an idiot, but I’m sure you know he’s a tougher target than Trafton.”

“What do you mean?” It was the first time he heard someone else mention Trafton as vulnerable.

“Don’t play dumb, Carter.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You mean to tell me you don’t know about his screwing around? He’s not very discreet.”

“What are you all going to do about it? I imagine it’ll fire up your base when you hit him.”

“It will—sometime around Labor Day.” Paxon was smart. They weren’t going to kill off the guy who’d be easiest to beat. Let him win the primary, raise more money that would otherwise go to other DFL candidates and then blast him. It was a beautiful strategy.

“Yep,” Carter finally said. “That’s the play I’d run, too.”

“Do you all really have nothing on him?”

“Long story,” he said, playing his cards close to his chest.

They ordered another round of drinks and chit-chatted about the weather, the Minnesota Twins and Hansen’s winning streak. Carter was ready to leave about 20 minutes later.

“Carter, you didn’t really call to talk about politics, did you?”

“Just curious about your take on the 7th.”

“Really? I thought tonight would be more interesting,” she said, standing.

“Not tonight, I’m afraid.”

“Well, you have my number. Don’t wait another year to use it.”

He watched her leave and then pulled out his iPhone and called Clarissa. Since the Minnesota Values Coalition knew about Trafton’s problems, Hogan would be justified in taking him out. Besides, he’d rather talk to Clarissa about anything—even Hogan—than spend another minute with Paxon.

Previously published samples available here.

Preview chapters from the sequel, A Referendum on Conscience, available here.

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