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Harry said, pointing to his right. “That’s where J. Edgar Hoover lives, literally. The old guy doesn’t have a life, except for his job. Rumor is he’s a homo. Never married and has shared an apartment with his assistant for years. He’s served every president since 1924. Really a strange man, but he put the fear of God in the Mafia. You don’t want to get on his bad side. He’ll put you on his hit list, tap your phone, anything he wants to do, and he gets away with it.”
    “Why don’t you do something about it?” Rod asked.
    “Well, son, there are just some things you don’t mess with in our government and Hoover is one of them. I sometimes think he’s more powerful than the President. Nobody in Congress has the guts to go up against him.”
    The rest of the ride was silent until they approached the U.S. Treasury building. “See that big building to your left? That’s the Treasury Department, where all the money is kept,” Harry said, laughing.
    “Really . . . do they really keep the government’s money there, like a big bank?” Rod asked.
    “Not really,” Harry said, “but that’s where they keep track of it and where it’s spent, at least that’s what they tell us up on the Hill. Okay, here we are. Executive Drive will take us to the back-door entrance to the White House.”
    “We want jobs and we want freedom,” a large crowd of young black people were chanting outside the protective wrought-iron fence that surrounded the White House. A line of police stood poised between the fence and the crowd.
    “What’s going on? Who are those people?” Rod asked, watching the demonstrators wave signs echoing their demand for jobs and freedom.
    “They’re civil rights protesters,” Harry said. “They’re raising hell at the White House, warming up for the big march on Washington down on the Mall and at the Lincoln Memorial next week. More than a million protesters are expected. A few will get their heads busted, or get arrested for assault, or for getting a little too pushy with the police. It’s going to be a security nightmare. The D.C. Police, Park Police, FBI, and probably some Secret Service guys will be involved. I understand that even the National Guard is on alert for possible riot control duty. It’s really going to be a mess.”
    “Sounds like some of the NAACP rallies back home when they were protesting to get Booker T. Washington integrated with our school. The judge gave them what they wanted and really upset some of the blue bloods. All kinds of threats were made to close the school and send all the white kids to private schools, but everything will calm down when football season starts. That will pull the town back together, whether some people like it or not. Football comes before everything else in Bois D’Arc, and they won’t let anything mess up our season. Most of the black players are friends of mine. I don’t think we’ll have any problems.”
    “Yeah, son, that’s good, but it’s a little more complicated than that up here. This city is over fifty percent black, but their unemployment rate is twice as high as whites. And on top of that, they can’t vote or have any representation in Congress. It’s a real problem we will have to deal with sooner than later.”
    “You’re a senator. Can’t you do anything about it?”
    Jack nudged Rod and shook his head.
    “It’s okay, Jack,” Senator Langtree said. “You’re pretty sharp, aren’t you, boy? Maybe we can get you a job up here. We need fresh young minds. I never could get Jack to come on board when I got elected.”
    The police barrier recognized Sen. Langtree’s congressional license tag and made a path through the crowd, handing them off to the Secret Service manning the gate and guardhouse. A Secret Service agent opened the car door, and after an inaudible conversation with Harry, he led the visitors through the portico down a narrow hallway past the gymnasium and finally to the swimming pool.
    “Good