Forty-FiveThat evening, alone in his office, the tumultuous events of the day spiral in Madison's mind like an insane nightmare. When the phone rings he grabs at it frantically.
“Yes.” He pauses to listen. “No, don't tell me over the phone. Have you called Warren? Okay then, we'll proceed as planned. What time?”
Bouvier hangs up the phone, ponders the call nervously. He opens his desk drawer, removes and checks his revolver for bullets, then places it in his briefcase. He rises and puts on his suit jacket, which has been hanging neatly on a wooden coat hanger in the closet. He adjusts the jacket meticulously over the leather gun holster, then leaves his office, briefcase in hand.
Moments later Bouvier pulls his car up to the waterfront and parks across from the pier.
He opens his brief
