This being the case, it seemed fitting and proper for him to have a drink. So he ambled to the bar in the corner.
From that location he was able to see a nook where John Stonefield and Ebenezer were wordlessly ramming great unruly tangles of tobacco into the bowls of their pipes. Standing near them, a mixed drink in his hand, talking at some length but getting no response, was John Stonefield’s son Terry, chairman of the Forks County Republican Committee, chairman of the board of several venerable Forks-area businesses, sometime state senator, gubernatorial candidate, and two-term U.S. congressman. He was dumpy yet delicate, wearing a navy blazer and khaki trousers and a striped tie with a stars-and-stripes pattern.
By the time Clyde had got his drink—a bottle of Steinhoffer Pilsner—Terry had turned around, noticed him, and beckoned him over. Hands were shaken all around. Neither John Stonefield nor Ebenezer had said anything yet, or all day, so far as Clyde could tell.
Clyde was not sure when John and Ebenezer had started golfing together, but he did not put much effort into trying to figure it out. He had noticed that old people were much more interesting and complex than he had ever suspected as a young man and that there was no telling what secret connections and machinations they might be up to. Ebenezer had lost a son-in-law (Clyde’s father) and John had lost a son: his oldest, his fair-haired boy and heir apparent, had been shot down in Korea and never found. But Clyde knew, from tiny droplets of information leaked out here and there, that John had filled Ebenezerwith a great deal of secret knowledge about the Stonefield family, the quirks and personal failings of its members, and the inner workings of its business empire.
None of it was likely to impress Ebenezer. Ebenezer was a plain-dealing and -speaking sort. In his mind all transactions more complex than, say, buying a plate of scrambled eggs at the Hy-Vee breakfast counter, and all relationships more complex than a lifelong, purely monogamous marriage between two virgins, belonged to a vast but vaguely defined category called “shenanigans.” He had let it be known, once or twice over the years, that the Stonefield family, in the decadent years since Terry’s older brother had gone down in flames, and John had turned matters over to Terry and gone into retirement and seclusion, had become tangled up in any number of different types of shenanigans. He always said this regretfully, as if he did not mean to seem judgmental. But Clyde had been judged by Ebenezer many times over the years, usually with the end result of getting walloped by a belt or stick, and so he knew that Ebenezer must have strong opinions hidden somewhere.
John Stonefield now spent most of his time in his farmhouse above the river outside of Wapsipinicon, reading outlandish newspapers mailed in from places like London and emerging only to play golf with Ebenezer. But he got together with Terry and the rest of his family from time to time and must have mentioned the Banks family during his conversations. Clyde knew as much, because one day late in 1989 Terry Stonefield, who had never known him from Adam, had suddenly invited him out to lunch and had made it clear that he knew a great deal about Clyde Banks and his domestic and career situations. The full majesty and power of the Forks County Republican party would be behind Clyde Banks should he choose to run.
So when Clyde stepped into the little nook where Ebenezer and the elder and younger Stonefields were, he felt like the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle that these men had been putting together over the last several months or even years. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why; incumbent Mullowney was a bad man and a bad sheriff. On the other side of the equation, the sheriff’s job was prestigious and carried with it a great deal of power, most of which was of an unofficial and unwritten nature. It would be a good thing for anyone to have a relative, or a friend of a friend, who was the sheriff of Forks County.
“Look at those anvils,” Clyde said, shaking his head. All four men stared out the window, sizing up theapproaching storm front.
“Must be topping fifty-five thousand feet,” Ebenezer said.
“How’s the campaign going, Clyde?” Terry said brightly.
Clyde said nothing for a moment, reckoning that his true answer should not be spoken in the presence of John and Ebenezer.
“Saw some of the stickers around town. Guess that means you hooked up with Razorback Media okay.”
“Hooked up with ’em, all right,” Clyde said.
“I keep looking out my window waiting for you to come up my road, Clyde,” John Stonefield said.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Ebenezer said.
“Well, he said he’d knock on every door in Forks County. Hasn’t knocked on mine yet, ’less I was out when he did.”
“I figured I’d catch you on Sunday, sir,” Clyde said.
“How’s that?”
“Thought I’d join you and Grandpa for golf, if you wouldn’t object,” Clyde said.