Bad Faith (Mason Ashford Thriller Series Book 1)
Page 21
“You seem happy.”
“I am happy. I kicked the shit out of Justice Carroll this morning at the athletic club in straight sets. He didn’t know what hit him.”
Mason took a seat, thankful his sweat-stained shirt had dried in the currents of cool air. Borisov poured two large glasses of bourbon, then dropped his energized frame into the regal black leather office chair parked in front of an onyx marble fireplace. A stack of wood rested next to the fireplace, rising above the mantle.
Gesturing with his glass, Mason pointed to the fireplace. “You actually use that thing?”
“Hard imaging on a day like today, but yes. It’s an old building. The furnace doesn’t work that well. I’ll start a fire a couple times a year when it gets cold.” He smiled to himself. “Well, the clerks start the fires.”
Mason fidgeted with his glass. “Listen, I wanted to thank you for helping smooth things over after…”
“The Camp Perseverance Massacre?” Borisov laughed, dribbling a little bourbon on his shirt. “The press had a field day with that. Anything to sell those rags they call ‘news.’”
“Yeah, that. And for helping Salome get her job back with Metro PD.” Mason wasn’t used to thanking people for helping him.
“It was the least I could do. Harry’s confirmation as a new Associate Justice guarantees he owes you more than a few favors now as well.” He leaned across the burled maple coffee table. “You did monumental work out there. You saved more than a dozen young women from a life of hell, and you tied everything off nicely. Of course, you won’t be able to visit North Korea on your next trip. I’m sure you’re broken up about that.”
“I’ve already changed my vacation plans.” The two men, accidental comrades in arms, clinked glasses.
“Mason, there’s something I want you to consider. We have our own police force here, and I’d like you to join it.”
Holding up a hand, Mason said, “I’ll stop you right there, judge. I’m not interested in putting on a uniform again.”
“Of course not. I’d like you to be the Special Investigator to the United States Supreme Court. How’s that sound?”
“That sounds like it’s not a thing. Supreme Court Police protect you guys and this building, basically. There are no investigators, let alone a special one.”
Borisov looked down, noticing the drops of bourbon soaked into his shirt. “Shit,” he muttered. “I’m the Chief Justice! If I say it’s a thing, it’s a thing.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I’m happy at Gridlock. The problems are minor, and I’m unlikely to provoke another international incident.”
“I figured you’d say that. The offer’s always on the table.”
“Likewise. If you need anything, ever, I’m a phone call away.”
A few minutes later, Mason stepped into the blazing July heat. Turning left, he walked two blocks south on First Street, straight to the Capitol South Metro station, and headed for home. He clocked in at Gridlock in a few hours.
Thank You
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About the Author
Nick Stevens lives and writes in Northern California with his girlfriend and cat. When not writing, he works in marketing and attempts to cook. This is his first novel.
You can find him online at nickstevensbooks.com and at nickstevensbooks@gmail.com.