I had tried three drunk-driving cases against him and he had lost them all. That did not make him a bad trial lawyer. I was supposed to win those cases. What set Buzzy apart was his willingness to try most anything that came along. He thought it was fun.

He was not, however, having fun with me at the Hyannis Mets baseball game. He wanted me to drink the beer that he gave me. Then he wanted me to drink another. He put away three to my two before he said, “I gotta talk to you about something.”

“I figured that.”

“It’s really kind of hush-hush. Confidential.”

“Does it have anything to do with work?”

“Sort of.”

“Then maybe you better not tell me.”

“It has to do with Mitchell White.”

I gave that some thought. I rather liked hearing stories about Mitchell White, although there generally were not many to tell. Mostly people just made fun of him.

“All right,” I said, “tell me.”

The crowd roared off to our right. One of the Hyannis players had just stroked a double into the gap between center and right. The game was scoreless and the double was the first exciting thing that had happened since I arrived.

Buzzy waited till the noise died down. “I’ve been asked to run against him.”

I had been about to sip the last of my second beer. Instead I lowered the can. “Nobody runs against a sitting D.A.”

“Yeah, I know, but it’s not as though Mitch has a real constituency.”

What Mitch had was the Gregorys. What the Gregorys had was anybody and everybody. I asked Buzzy what was in it for him.

“A real job,” he said, “with a real paycheck. A chance to maybe put my life together. I’m pushing forty, you know.”

He was, I was pretty sure, thirty-eight. Buzzy was a good-looking guy with what might be called joie de vivre. It made him a great person to share a night on the town. I wasn’t sure that qualified him for being a district attorney.

“What about some of the cases you’ve handled, some of the clients you’ve represented?” I asked.

“The people who want me to run, they think I can use that as a positive. I know the way the other side works.”

“Fox in the henhouse and all that stuff,” I said back.

“Well, it’s not as though I have a political agenda about getting the man or freeing the people or anything like that. It’s just the business that comes to me. And I do know criminal law.”

A long fly ball to left caused the guy on second to tag up and sprint to third. The left fielder had a strong arm and made a perfect throw, nailing the runner just before his foot reached the bag. The third-base coach didn’t like the call and began arguing with the ump. A lot of people came running down to the fence to support the coach, tell the umpire how blind he was. Buzzy and I had to wait until the fans finished expressing their opinions and moved away.

“Look, Buzzy, Mitch is one of those guys that just kind of goes along, and most people in the community couldn’t even tell you who he is. If he’s pissed somebody off, I don’t know who that could be. So I’m just kind of wondering who’s come to you, who has decided it’s time to take on and kick out a sitting D.A.? And more important, why?”

“If I tell you, I’ve got to swear you to secrecy.” He didn’t look at me when he said this. Most people, they swear you, they look you right in the eyes.

“Swear,” I said.

“It’s the Macs,” he said.

I watched his face. He still didn’t look at me. His Adam’s apple went up and down. “You want another beer?” he asked, and busied himself in his cooler getting one for each of us.

“Okay,” I said, taking the cold can so that now I had a beer in each hand, “what’s their deal? Why do they want him out?”

“They’re not telling me. They just say it’s time for a change and they’d like to get a local guy in there. They’ve got plenty of financial backing, they say.”

I finished the old beer, cracked the new one, sampled it. “If you’re asking me,” I said, “and I assume you are, I wouldn’t do it. There’s something funny about this, at least the way you describe it. I mean, the Macs are small businessmen. What do they care who the district attorney is?”

“Don’t know. I just know it’s an opportunity for me.”

I decided to give him advice. I decided that was what he really wanted from me. “Listen, Buz, running for D.A. is not like running for any other office. For a D.A. to get voted out he has to have really screwed up in some way. Nobody in our office likes Mitch, but they’re not going to come out against him.”

“I’ve already agreed to do it, George.”

The batter at the plate got hit by the pitch. He was gesturing at the pitcher and the pitcher was stomping down off the mound, gesturing back. The about-to-be-famous Cotuit catcher got between the batter and the pitcher. The umpire tried to get between the catcher and the batter. Players, coaches, and managers poured from both dugouts, and the crowd loved it.

“You know,” I said, “my job sucks bad enough already. I really can’t do anything to make it worse. I mean, I’ll give you money, vote for you, obviously. But I’m not going to say anything quotable or let you use my name on your literature. So, great, you’ve got me and the Macs and your high-school buddies showing up at a fund-raiser for you, and Mitch has Senator Gregory showing up at a fund-raiser for him—who do you think’s going to get the short end of the stick on that one?”

Buzzy shifted in his lawn chair as if to get a better look at the brouhaha on the diamond. But he was not really watching it. “What I wanted to speak to you about, what I asked you to meet me for, was to see if I could get you to not make my campaign any worse.”

“By what, holding a press conference, telling everyone what a lush you are?” I was making a joke. I didn’t really know anything bad about Buzzy. He drank no more than anyone else, from what I could see.

Only he drank now. He drained the whole can of beer in one long gurgle.

Out on the field, the umpire was having a high old time throwing people out of the game. He would point at someone, then turn half a turn away and sling his arm up in the air as if he were casting a fly rod. Each time he did it the crowd cheered or booed.

“These guys are saying, and it’s mostly McBeth, he’s like the spokesperson, that if there is anything bad in my background … anything unsavory, then Mitch White’s going to come up with it. Maybe not Mitch so much, but the people who want him around, the people who support him.”

I waited to see if he would say it. When he didn’t, I did. “The Gregorys.”

“Yeah.”

“So you’re going to throw in with some anti-Gregory faction. What are they, Republicans?”

“Fuck no, and that’s not what I said.”

Buzzy’s anger startled both of us. He dragged his hand across his mouth to calm himself down. The combative baseball players and coaches were still milling around. Cotuit was going to have to get a new pitcher. The game was going to be delayed for a while.

“Look, George, I want this job. I seriously would like to get my life together and be somebody, get on track for something. And these guys, they came to me. I didn’t go to them. They say they want me because of my family, my roots. They say I’m personable. The other thing they’re saying is that I’m telegenic, although I don’t know what good that does me in this race. They just want to know if there’s any shit in my past, anything that the Gregorys could dig up that would, you know, make me look … less than honorable.”

“Like representing Colombians?”

“They don’t have any problem with that. I was just doing my job there.”

“Getting paid in cash.”

“Yeah, well, I had enough other people paying by check. I’ve never had any problems with the tax folks.”

“So that’s not what you’re concerned about.”

“No.”

“It’s something personal.”

“Yeah.”