Chapter 6

CNN Live Topics: Although a few analysts have argued that partisanship in Congress is at an all time high, many of observers of the political scene are not so convinced. Quite the opposite, this commentator has spoken with senators and representatives on both sides of the aisle who stress that they have been working with colleagues from the other party. These congressmen and women speak of intransigence in their party leadership while praising the cooperative spirit emerging among the rank and file. This development is heartening. The question for us is whether this new spirit will rise quickly enough to replace the respective implacable leadership in both parties in time to curb executive excesses.

Friday arrived and Brendan felt like he had won the lottery. Earlier in the evening, everyone at the upholstery shop lined up at the lunch table. Today's lunch table had been Queen Anne style with two new legs waiting for layers of varnish. Oscar walked in with one of those heavy bank purses printed with the logo of a bank that had disappeared long ago in a merger. The zipper on top seemed huge. With great show he placed the purse on the table and took out wads of bills.

"Teacher," Oscar said, motioning Brendan to step forward. Oscar counted out $500 in twenties and pushed them across the table. Brendan scooped up the money and stepped to the side. He stuffed some of the money in his left pocket, more of it inside his underwear, and a good chunk of it in both socks. When everyone was paid, Oscar pulled out dollar bills and passed out two to every one.

"Same time next week, Teacher," Oscar concluded before he turned his back and walked to the front towards his office.

Brendan couldn't keep the grin from his face. Julio slapped him on the back in a good natured gesture of paycheck solidarity and started for the side door. The other two waited for Marisol and escorted her to the bus stop with the gravity of bodyguards in a dangerous neighborhood.

Brendan peeled off two hundred dollars and handed them over to Sheila without asking. "Don't protest, Sheila. You guys need it and at least today, I can help."

Sheila tucked the money in her bra and gave him a brief hug. She was still in her hospital scrubs, which were worn at the edges and bore faded stains that would never come clean.

"Tell Paulie I'm going out for a beer and looking for an easy lay."

Brendan hid most of the money in a clean pair of socks in his small duffle knowing that tomorrow he would hit the Goodwill Store for some sorely needed clothes. He had been warned to avoid the Salvation Army store, with its mandatory bible study and prayer service before purchase.

One township blended into another and only the locals really knew where the borders of a given town began or ended. Wanting to step out of the confines of his hometown and the chance of being recognized, Brendan decided to travel a bit down the road. He ducked into the darkened room of one of his old haunts, Johnson's Tavern in Weehawken. It was far enough from Secaucus to require some effort but close enough to require only one bus, which Brendan snuck aboard from the back.

He didn't recognize any faces, but he identified the looks of exhaustion, depression, and loneliness he saw around the room. He sidled up to the bar and took a seat, anticipating a little alcohol buzz. The bartender ambled over like he had a bad hip and said, "Put money on the bar and you can have what you want."

Brendan pulled a twenty from his left pocket and ordered a draft. The bartender gave him $15 in change and handed him a suspiciously yellow brew in a middling size mug. Brendan took a tentative sip of the weak drink, wondering if he had just wasted a good chunk of his fun money. The room was fairly quiet because the others around the bar weren't really talking. Mostly they stared at the TV on a shelf high up in a corner of the room showing a basketball game. Occasionally someone would comment after a play, but that was the only talk.

Brendan finished his beer. The ever-alert bartender returned and asked him if he wanted another. Brendan gave him a pained look and placed his hand on top of the glass. "Not quite what I remembered from two years ago," he said.

"The price of hops is through the roof. Government doesn't pay farm subsidies to farmers who grow 'sin' crops. It's less hassle and more profitable to grow other stuff. I know I sell this shit, but I wouldn't be surprised if they cured this beer with formaldehyde."

"What have you got that is drinkable and that I can afford?" Brendan asked.

The man reached under the bar and pulled out an unmarked bottle with a deep purple liquid in it. Brendan stared at it, wondering if his eyes were playing tricks on him.

"Wine?" Brendan said.

"New York State fortified wine," he said. "Between the Catholics and the Jews, the feds can't ban sacramental wine or slap a sin tax on it. It just so happens that one kosher winery makes wine and grape alcohol. Mix 'em together and you get fortified wine."

Brendan had to ask, "Legal?"

"It is in New York State. They call it MD 20/20," the bartender said.

"Mad Dog? You're offering Mad Dog as a better choice than beer? Jesus!"

"That's Mogen David to the connoisseurs who are in the know. With due respect to the Jews who ferment this stuff, let us keep the name of Mr. J. out of the bar. If you can't keep your mouth shut, friend, you're going to have to leave." A little softer the man added, "You don't know who has an extra ear."

"A glass of your finest fortified, friend," Brendan said with a light heartedness that he didn't really feel.

The bartender took a five from his pile and returned with a bar glass and $2.50. He took out the bottle again and filled the glass about three quarters full. "Sip it to your heart's content, but if someone sounds the alarm, you slam down the evidence. Understand?"