“I dunno. I mean, I’m not one to criticize manipulative bastards, being one myself and all. But this guy…new levels. And your mom, Samantha…right there with him.” Tim rubs his forehead.

“What do you mean?” I say at the same time Mr. Garrett asks, “You going back there to work tonight?” He must have come into the room without any of us hearing.

Tim shakes his head, but a flush climbs up his neck. He’s never been late before, not here.

“Good, then. You’ll stay on after closing and finish that inventory of the stockroom you started the other day.”

Tim nods, swallowing. Mr. Garrett puts a hand on his shoulder. “Never again, Timothy. Ya hear?” He walks off down the hall to his office, his broad shoulders looking a little slumped.

Jase pulls a package of Trident gum out of his jeans pocket and offers it to Tim. “So go on.”

“So old Clay…” Tim takes six sticks of gum, half the package. Jase raises his eyebrows but says nothing. “He’s freaking everywhere. You lift a rock in this campaign and he crawls out from under it. Grace has this entire staff and Clay’s in charge of f**kin’ all of it. He says something and everybody jumps. Even me. The guy never sleeps. Even that little dude, your mom’s suck-up campaign manager, Malcolm, is looking bushed, but Clay’s going along like the friggin’ Energizer Bunny of Connecticut politics. He’s even got this babe…this hot brunette from Ben Christopher’s office…being like a double agent for him. She shows up every morning to give him the goods on what Christopher’s doing. So Grace can get a jump on it, show it up, look better.”

Realization smacks me hard, but I barely have time to process because Tim keeps going.

“He’s all about the photo ops too. Yesterday it was some poor bastard who lost both legs in Afghanistan coming stateside. Clay was on the spot, makin’ sure Gracie got a half-page spread in the Stony Bay Bugle kissing him hello.” Tim jams his hands into his pockets, pacing around the room as he talks. “Then we go to some day-care center where he gets Grace’s photo taken with six cute blond kids piled around her. He practically shoved this girl with one of those big red birthmarks on her face outta the way. I mean, he’s good at what he does. It’s amazing watching him work. But somehow, frickin’ scary too. And your Mom…she just says nothin’, Samantha. She snaps to attention like she’s working for him. What the f**k’s up with that?”

It’s not as though I haven’t thought all these things. But when Tim says them, I feel defensive. Besides, who is Tim to talk?

“Look,” I say. “It may seem like he’s the boss, but Mom would never back off completely like that. She loves this job and she’s totally committed to winning and this is a tough race…” I trail off. I sound like her.

“Yeah, and she’s ahead in all our internal polling. Even with the margin of error. Close, but ahead. But of course, that’s not enough for Clay. Clay has to hedge his bets. Clay has to have his little November surprise in the works, so he makes abso-friggin’-lutely sure that not only does she win, but her opponent f**king loses. Big. Not just the race. His whole career.”

Jase is absently sliding the palm of his left hand up and down my side, while still pulling plastic packs of nails out of the cardboard box. “And he’s doing this by…?”

“Digging up dirt that doesn’t matter. Making sure it matters. And sticks.”

We both stare at Tim.

“Ben Christopher, who’s running against Grace? He has two DUIs,” he says. “The first was from thirty years ago, high school. The second was twenty-six years ago. He did his service, paid his fines. I see the dude in meetings. He’s seriously decent. He’s done everything he can to make up for it. But old Clay’s already got it lined up to make sure you can never keep your past in the past. He knows from his little pet spy that the Christopher campaign is shitting bricks about it coming out. And he’s gonna have old Gracie do a rally with some ass**le there who’s going to let it all slip. Three days before the election.”

“Where are you in all this?” Jase asks.

Tim looks at us pleadingly. “I don’t know. Clay Tucker thinks I walk on water. For some reason, every damn thing I do impresses this jerk-off. Today he complimented me on how I collated papers, for Christ’s sake. No one has ever been this impressed with me. Not even when I was faking my ass off. I’m not now. I’m actually good at this crap. Plus, I need the recommendation.” His voice rises a few octaves. “‘The hardware store is all very well, Timothy, but it’s your campaign experience, and what the state senator says about you that’ll go a long way toward repairing the damage you’ve done yourself.’”

“Your mom?” I ask.

“Natch. There’s not a person on the planet who would say as many nice things about me as Clay Tucker. And of course, my luck, he has to ruin a good man along the way.”

At this point the store gets a sudden run of customers. A hassled-looking woman with her teenage daughter chooses paint chips. An elderly woman wants a leaf blower that doesn’t take any muscle to run. A clueless-looking bearded guy tells Tim he wants “One of those things you fix stuff with, like on TV.” After five minutes of Tim offering him everything from spackle to a DustBuster to a Ginzu knife, Jase finally figures out it’s a tool kit. The guy trots off, looking satisfied.

“So, what are you going to do?” I ask.

“Hell, hell, hell,” Tim responds, reaching for his shirt pocket where his cigarettes still reside, then letting his hand drop away, empty. No smoking in the building. He closes his eyes, looking as though someone’s pounding a nail through his temple, then opens them and looks no better. He smacks his fist against the counter, sending a plastic container of pens jumping. “I just can’t make myself quit. I’ve screwed up so much already. This will look like more of the same…even though it’s not.” He bends forward over the cash register, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. Is he crying?

“You could tell him what you think of his tactics,” Jase points out. “Tell him they’re wrong.”

“Like he’ll care. I hate this. I hate knowing the right thing to do and not having the balls to do it. This sucks. This is payback, isn’t it? You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve done, the tests I’ve cheated on, the rules I’ve broken, the times I’ve f**ked up, the people I’ve screwed over.”