by Lee Taylor
She should have expected Ben’s flippant response underscoring the true authority in the campaign. “Humph. Sorry, boss lady. Like Logan, I’m looking out for you even when you refuse to be looked out for.”
Logan reached for her arm. Holding her tightly beside him, he nodded to the serious young man. “As you should, Ben.” Glancing from one to the other of the three aides, he added, “It’s up to all of us to protect Gia . . . not only from the vicious reprobates out to take her down—but from herself. If anyone knows how bull-headed she is, it’s the four of us.” Grinning at her annoyed snort, Logan said, “Anytime she gets testy, know that I’m always in the wings. For better or worse, I seem to have found the key to make it clear to this feisty woman that she doesn’t have to go it alone. While we can still expect her to act up, at least now she knows there’ll be consequences.”
Chapter 21
Gus Underwood rose to his full height and sucked in his gut. Unfortunately, his barely five foot eight inches not only made him short but also emphasized his pendulous gut. Damn, even the suspenders he’d added to assist his belt were strained at the load. He mused that on a taller man, his rotund girth would have been less noticeable. At least his gut could be distributed better on a taller frame. Christ, he didn’t have to be as tall as that asshole Logan Fowler, but three or four additional inches sure as hell would help. As he headed toward the three men sitting across the dining room waiting for him, Gus shrugged off his fleeting concerns about his weight. After all, most men his age looked more like him than the few He-Men like Fowler and his muscle-bound ilk.
Besides, he insisted that looking more “normal” allowed him to relate to his constituency. Permitted him to pass himself off as “one of the people,” a decided advantage for a consummate pol. Which, Gus thought with a silent chortle, was what made him anything but a man of the people. He’d won five congressional terms by larger and larger margins by touting his supposed similarity to his constituents. Privately Gus acknowledged that with each election, he’d become less like his electorate and more like the elite he’d once eschewed. Granted, he didn’t have all the accouterments the wealthy assholes did, like graduating from top colleges or owning flourishing businesses. But at least now he was similar to the elite monetarily, which on Gus’s scorecard was the only measurement that mattered.
It was hard to remember that when he first ran for office, he’d thought that his platform, the issues he supported, would determine his election. Over time, he acknowledged that while issues definitely were important, the more critical question was to whom they mattered. The best way his constituents could confirm the importance of an issue was how willing and able they were to put their money where their interests lay. In Gus’s mind, the beauty of the election process was that as a candidate, it was expected that you could talk out of one side of your mouth and do the opposite if you knew how to position yourself. For example, nobody could talk more about helping the less fortunate than Gus could. Heck, he was one of them. Or he once had been—so he could relate. The challenge was to talk a good game, a seemingly egalitarian one, without conceding that when push came to shove, money, and lots of it, determined which issues he would ultimately champion.
And then there were the personal perks that came with power. The power to indulge in peccadillos one had only imagined or participated in privately. Transgressions from the venal to the distinctly mortal sin-level were ignored or, better yet, scoured by the disinfectant of sycophants who derived their power from the rag-tag remnants of his. In addition to the ability to practice behaviors that once would have shamed him to even consider, there was the river of money that had made him a fifth-term congressmen one of the most affluent in the congress. That never-ending flow of money allowed him to surround himself with underlings who owed him their allegiance and their silence. Although in fleeting moments of self-awareness, he wondered who was being blackmailed into silence—his toadies or himself.
Over the years, he’d learned that there were different ways of buying a seat. You didn’t always have to sell your soul, as he had done for his big donors like Stew Reed and his elite cohorts. With smaller donors, you could play on their fears, reassuring them that once you got in office, their lives would be better. If not richer, at least somewhat safer, less challenged by things and people they thought were out to get them. You could make promises you couldn’t deliver on because ultimately the voters weren’t stupid. They knew that politicians, to put it nicely—exaggerated. To put it less nicely—they lied. Gus couldn’t remember when he’d become so cynical. He conceded it was likely when he’d learned that money not only talked in politics, it screamed. All a successful pol needed to do was cozy up to those who screamed the loudest. Not with their voices but with sizable political donations.
Or, he thought with an angry grimace, you could do what the little Irish tart had done. Rather than selling her soul, she’d sold her body. Damn, he should have known that Logan Fowler was boffing the bitch. He remembered Fowler cutting him down, accusing him of being a misogynistic asshole when Gus had crudely remarked on Gia’s sensational ass. Hell, all he’d said was what every man with a dick bigger than a tadpole had thought when surveying that particular ass. When the elitist moneyman had admonished him for his off-color remarks, Gus told Fowler to back off, that Gia Tremaine could give as good as she got. Plus, she was used to comments about her appearance. Besides, being Big Bart’s baby girl had given her a protective coat of armor that could withstand a twenty-man firing squad. It was a given no one, man or woman, dared to criticize Gia Tremaine—within earshot of her bigger-than-life father. Gus conceded that apparently now Gia had an even more powerful guard dog. None other than that arrogant interloper Logan fucking Fowler.
Gus never dreamed he’d prefer tussling with Big Bart. The two of them had always scrapped. They had come up in the same era. Unlike with Fowler, Gus knew what he was getting into with Big Bart. He admitted he’d been jealous of the outrageously handsome Irishman. The Mick’s looks, polish, quick wit, and frankly his charisma, challenged Gus. He’d been grateful that even though Big Bart never supported him, he hadn’t stood in his way. But he wasn’t stupid. He’d known it was only a matter of time before the quixotic Irishman ran against him. For that reason, Gus had joined the forces out to take Big Bart down. Like many of the other conspirators, he was genuinely surprised when they succeeded. After all, it was a given that Big Bart Tremaine never lost. When he did, it cleared the path for Gus to go after his ultimate goal, the US Senate. But first, he needed to win his congressional seat one more time. It was a given he’d succeed, an accepted piece of cake. After all, Bartholomew Tremaine was in prison, and Aiden Maxwell, the candidate Gia was running against him, had exploded when the prick was exposed as a pedophile. That should have been the end of the Tremaine juggernaut on his corner of the political world—forever.
Except, like a fucking nightmare out of the Avengers, came a literal Black Widow, a fierce competitor in the form of none other than Gia Tremaine. Like everyone else, he’d been flabbergasted when she entered the primary with just eight days to go. It was a ballsy move, to say the least, in that her pedophile candidate had blown the fucking district apart with his crime. Now with her astonishing lopsided win in the primary and Logan Fowler at her back, Gus admitted Gia could be a genuine threat.
He chided himself, acknowledging the predicament he was facing. He shouldn’t have been surprised that Big Bart’s upstart progeny would do something no one predicted. Such as marching her curvy ass into the race for the 2nd Congressional District. His district. The district, damn it, that he’d bought and paid for with countless favors, numerous bribes, and by committing what some might call outright graft for the moneymen who’d bought the seat for him. They were the tried-and-true actions of accomplished pols like himself and the Big Barts of the political world. The savvy men who knew how the game of politics was played at its lowest levels.
Gus grunted in disgust. Hell, Gia Tremaine knew the
rules of the game as well as anyone did. After all, she’d been schooled by the most deviously accomplished politician these parts had ever known. What most galled Gus was that, unlike Big Bart and himself, Gia didn’t have to pimp for money. She didn’t have to make promises she couldn’t keep, take risks, and hell, engage in behavior that more than crossed the line between legal and criminal. Actions that could land you in prison, like her father had done. No, he thought with an aggrieved growl, all the bitch had to do was bare what even he conceded was one of the finest little asses he’d seen and spread her showgirl legs for a guy Gus would kill to have as a financial supporter.
Eyeing the three men waiting for him, Gus planted a grin on his mug and tramped across the room. In his best imitation of a circus barker, he hollered out a hearty hello. Even as they rose to their feet to shake his hand, Gus acknowledged that only Stewart Reed was in the bag for him. Or to be more accurate, Gus was in Stewart’s bag. The other two men, Paul Davis and Elliott Lockhart, had supported all of his races, sometimes significantly so. But Gus had heard and seen enough to know that Fowler had somehow managed to win over the duo. Apparently, Lockhart and Fowler had done some military crap together, so Elliott following Logan Fowler’s lead was understandable, if regrettable. But Paul Davis was as jaded a moneyman as he knew. And he’d been a dependable backer of Gus’s various campaigns. Gus was furious when he learned that Davis planned to front the celebration for Gia’s primary victory. Talk about a low blow. While he hoped that Paul was just throwing a sop to the new guy, he knew he needed to work fast to shore up Davis’s support. If that wasn’t possible, at least he needed to convince him to throw money at both camps. Which was why Stewart Reed—Gus’s primary backer—had proposed the luncheon meeting.
“Greetings, gentlemen.” As he sank onto his chair, Gus nodded to Stewart with a smirk. “At least one of you is a gentleman.” Facing the other two men, he managed to assume a somewhat humorous tone. “As for the two of you, I can only assume that you wanted to ingratiate yourself with that Fowler fucker who’s invaded our dominion. Apparently, the hotshot thinks that he can pull off a political miracle like he did in Washington State. That is to elect a newbie, hell, a virgin.” He added with a leer, “In Gia’s case, a virgin at least as far as being a political candidate.” When neither Paul nor Elliott smiled at his coarse shot at Logan and Gia, Gus upped the ante. “Please don’t tell me that the oh-so-delectable Miss Tremaine is into ménages, or would that be ‘quartages’ since you guys appear to be in the ‘joining’ mode?”
Meeting Elliott’s dark frown, he gave him some room. “Hell, Elliott, I know you and Fowler go way back, so I can understand why you might wanna suck his dick. Army buddies and all that shit.” Facing Paul Davis, he didn’t pull any punches. “But c’mon, Paul. You gotta know that as snazzy as she is, Gia Tremaine is a newbie. I’ll grant you that she’s got star-studded political genes, but that DNA got shot to hell when she backed that fucking pedophile. I don’t care how much money Fowler is willing to throw her way. At some point I have to believe that qualifications count. I do not believe that our district is willing to support a little gal who we all agree has a sweet ass but has never run for office. No matter who her pappy or who her sugar daddy is.”
Paul Davis put up his hands, stopping a clearly angry Elliott from responding. “Careful, Gus. You and I go way back, and I appreciate the fact that you’ve made the money I sent your way pay off—big time. But if you’re hoping to get me to throw some jingle your way this time around, you’re going to have to tone down your rhetoric. It’s best you understand that referring to Gia’s superlative body ain’t allowed in this new political climate. Take my advice. You’d do well to keep those demeaning comments to yourself. You have to know that running against a woman ain’t the same these days. All of us old codgers would do well to acknowledge that.” He added before a red-faced Gus could respond, “To the point you’re making—if badly—I agree. Gia is a newbie, at least as a candidate. But, buddy, you gotta admit, she has more political smarts in her little finger than ninety percent of the assholes running for Congress. Furthermore, unlike Elliott, who is a longtime friend of Logan Fowler, I’m just coming to know the guy. To put it succinctly, I’m impressed as hell.” He paused to take a fortifying draught of his whiskey. “I gotta add you’re right to be concerned. Given Gia’s assets, and I’m referring to her political acumen, having the financial backing of a guy as loaded as Logan Fowler is makes her a formidable candidate.”
Stewart Reed put a restraining hand on Gus’s arm, smoothly cutting off his colleague’s frothing response. “You’re correct, Paul. Gia is a daunting woman and may indeed prove to be a formidable candidate. Time will tell. As a fellow businessman, like you, I’m impressed with Logan Fowler. Although clearly an upstart, he has captured the attention of the entrepreneurial elite. In addition, his support gives Ms. Tremaine’s candidacy a decided jumpstart. I only ask you both to remember that Gus is a proven product and has steadfastly supported the issues critical to all three of us. At least he deserves to be heard. Besides, from what I’ve seen of Gia to date, she is going to position herself well to the left of our—shall we say—interests.”
Elliott spoke for the first time. Clearly angry, he ignored Gus. Turning to Reed, he made an obvious effort to speak coolly. “That may be, Stewart. But I don’t think you are giving Gia or Logan Fowler enough credit. First, while Gia obviously will play the woman card, she isn’t stupid. Look at the campaign she put together for Aiden Maxwell. It was decidedly center-based. If Maxwell hadn’t been such a lightweight, not to mention a fucking pervert, he could have given Gus a run for his money. You have to admit that even though the campaign blew up spectacularly, Gia came out of the morass relatively unscathed. If our polls are correct—and they are—people admired the way she handled a devastating situation.”
Turning to Gus, Elliott was curt. “As for Logan Fowler, yes, he is a friend. Moreover, he and I served together in hellholes you can only hope you never see. Logan commanded the most dangerous missions I encountered in two tours of duty. Like every man on our Special Ops squad, I owe Logan Fowler my life. Modesty aside, we Delta Force D-Boys are tough as shit. But compared to Logan, the rest of us were pussies. It’s unlikely any of us would be alive today if it weren’t for our fearsome commander.” He added grimly, “A little advice, Gus. You might think twice about referring to Logan as a ‘sugar daddy.’ I’m reasonably certain he wouldn’t take to it kindly.”
Stewart Reed broke the uneasy silence following Elliott’s impassioned challenge. “Hmm, that is compelling information, Elliott. I agree that none of us on Gus’s campaign will underestimate the role that Mr. Fowler played in your life and others. Clearly, he was a hero. I must admit, while I knew that Fowler served in the military, I wasn’t aware he was Delta Force. Impressive.” He tugged on his chin and inquired thoughtfully, “Tell me, any chance your hero is still involved with the Force?”
Elliott guffawed. “Hell no. Trust me. As exciting as those days were, all of us, Logan included, are more than happy to be chasing after wealth and fame as we were taking down the world’s baddest badasses.” He pinned a hard glare on Gus. “Look, buddy, all’s fair in love and war. And especially in politics. But do know that while Logan Fowler and Gia Tremaine are relative newbies in the political arena—at least as a candidate and financial backer—I wouldn’t want to get on the bad side of either of them. The result wouldn’t be pretty.”
Smiling pleasantly, Stewart nodded in agreement. “Thank you, Elliott, for your insights. Forewarned is forearmed.” Focusing on Paul, he lifted a casual shoulder. “Given that Fowler didn’t save your life as he apparently did Elliott’s, can we at least count on you to throw a ‘little jingle’ Gus’s way? For old time’s sake, if for nothing else?”
Like the canny operator that he was, Paul met Stewart’s grin with one of his own. “Let’s just say that I didn’t get as filthy rich as I am by closing doors. If anything, I’ve found that playi
ng both sides of the equation is not only entertaining, it can be profitable.”
Chapter 22
It’s as simple and as complicated as this.” Logan activated the pointing device on the large-screen monitor in the front of the room. Standing to the side, he nodded at the information on the screen. “The towns marked in green have a population exceeding a hundred thousand. Blue indicates between fifty and a hundred thou, orange equals twenty-five to fifty thousand, and so on. As you can see from the legend, we are targeting population centers that range from under a thousand to the major cities. We need campaign offices in each and every one of them. Next to the population centers, I’ve indicated the number of offices and people we will need in each.”
Gia broke the shell-shocked silence. Not able to hide her disbelief, she said with an ironic sniff, “Given that I don’t have a calculator and can only add that many numbers in my head somewhat accurately, even if I’m close, we are going to need what looks like a thousand volunteers.”
“Actually, Gia, that is the minimum number of paid staff we will have. As for volunteers, you need to multiply that number many times over. To put it succinctly, I plan to saturate the district from end to end with paid staff and volunteers. Fortunately, you’ve managed to find two organizational geniuses in Kaila and Emma. I’m giving them free rein to hire as many people as they think we will need at each campaign office—and then I’m likely to double the number.”
Grinning at the shocked gasps from the core team, Logan turned to Ben. “While I’m laying out the overall blueprint of the campaign, Ben is the manager, the wizard who will make all of our plans actionable. He will decide the actual number of staff and volunteers we need at each site. More important, he is in charge of the calendar. In consultation with Kaila and Emma, he will decide when and where Gia will go in each of the locations. He’ll determine which will be stopovers, which will be out-and-out rallies. Ben is also in charge of scheduling the media interviews and events. The one exception is that I will continue to organize and facilitate the fundraising events.”