Radabaugh spat and considered. “They’s one thing,” he suggested mildly. “You might not have thought of it.”
Wint grinned. “You talk like B. B. Beecham. What is it, Jim?”
“I mean to say,” said Radabaugh, “this didn’t just happen. What I mean is, it didn’t just happen to happen. It was meant.”
Wint studied him. “What’s in your mind?”
“They’d have held off till after election, maybe,” Jim suggested. “Looks to me like they’re starting this to hit the election somehow. I can’t say just how. Don’t know. But it looks to me it was meant.”
“You mean they’re trying to discredit me, say I don’t enforce the laws.”
“Maybe that. Maybe something else. Just struck me it was something.”
Wint got up abruptly. “I don’t give a hoot. This campaign business bores me, anyhow. But I’m not going to stand for this. You get busy, Jim. If you need help, say so. I’ll bring a man in from outside, if necessary. But I want to grab the man that’s selling. You understand?”
“It’s your funeral,” said Radabaugh cheerfully, shifting the bulge in his cheek. “I’ll do my do.”
“Go to it,” Wint told him. “I’m leaving it to you.”