In the years since, misfortune has befallen the gang. Rusty Areias was driven into personal bankruptcy; Charles Calderon ran an abysmal campaign for state attorney general; Steve Peace was ensnarled in the electricity deregulation scandal and Jerry Eaves was indicted on charges of criminal misconduct, finally striking a deal that will keep him out of jail, but cost him his seat on the San Bernardino, Calif., Board of Supervisors.

In Sacramento, people now joke darkly about the Curse: the voodoo trickery Brown, now mayor of San Francisco, obviously cooked up to bring misfortune to his political enemies. One man seemed immune, going on to Congress in 1989, becoming a leader of the powerful conservative Blue Dog Democrats, emerging as Gov. Gray Davis' go-to guy in Congress and reportedly being groomed by Davis to succeed him in 2006. His name, of course, is Gary Condit.

Now, all over the Capitol and in the Sacramento watering holes the Gang of Five and their allies and enemies used to patronize, the talk is all Condit, all the time. Despite term limits, there are still plenty of people who remember the Modesto assemblyman who went to Congress after the Gang of Five debacle in 1989. And he still has his supporters, thanks to a mixture of loyalty, fear of crossing a powerful congressman and respect for the King of the Valleycrats, the conservative Democrats who've given the party its recent lock on the statehouse and legislature. As the media-scandal machinery ramps up, and national reporters parachute into Sacramento and Condit's central California district, among Condit supporters there is an unmistakable weariness and anger.

The scandal has even invaded Simon's, a Chinese restaurant/bar across the street from the Capitol and a favorite watering hole of legislators, lobbyists and staffers. It is a place where reporters' notepads stay closed and tape recorders are turned off. But when a Washington Post reporter came looking for stories about Condit, she announced herself to the room, and offered to listen to anybody who wanted to dish on Condit. According to sources there, no one took her offer, at least in public.

"It was unbelievable," one Condit loyalist said. "I mean, it's not like she was with the Star, offering 50 grand." The macabre joke was a reference to reports that the tabloid has sent snoops throughout Sacramento, offering the sum to any former Condit paramour willing to tell her story.

On Thursday night at Simon's, a group of people close to Condit took their usual places. Richie Ross, one of the deans of Sacramento Democrats who still offers informal advice to Condit, came to the table announcing that he had just broken his press silence on Condit, though the quotes in the next day's Sacramento Bee revealed only that Ross had advised Condit to "cooperate with police and not speak publicly."

When I told Assemblyman Dennis Cardoza, a Condit ally who many look to as a possible successor, that I was in town gathering information for a piece on Condit, he pursed his lips, and gave a slow, single shake of the head. The subject didn't come up for the rest of the night.

Given the day's events, it was understandable. Thursday felt like a turning point in the Condit story. The morning saw headlines in the Washington Post about another rumored Condit liaison with a local minister's daughter. Federal investigators widened a criminal probe of Condit for allegedly suborning perjury in the case of flight attendant Anne Marie Smith. D.C. police marshaled "cadaver dogs" to search abandoned buildings for Levy's body. And throughout the day, everyone was waiting for the inevitable National Enquirer piece on the affair to hit, which it did midafternoon, alleging Levy was pregnant when she disappeared. (Momentum shifted a little in Condit's favor Friday, when sources close to the congressman revealed he'd passed a polygraph test the police asked him to take, though they gave no details about what questions he answered.)

With each new development, and an increased media focus on Condit's early stonewalling of the investigation, the change within the Capitol was palpable. While most Condit gossip had focused on the story's political ramifications -- whether Condit would win reelection, and how the scandal might affect redistricting, or the upstart political career of Condit's son, Chad -- on Thursday people began asking whether he might actually know what happened to Chandra Levy.

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