Enter Stole (Harlem's Deck 3)

by Paul Smith

start of humanity's great stellar walkabout. Though there still was and probably always would be a hardcore group who objected to its use purely on the principle of the thing, the return to hunter gather society on most start up colonies, tied to the ever increasing number of inimical predators man was encountering, had led to a general relaxation of the old twenty-first century prohibitions against using and wearing animal produce.

  Lise actually removed a glove (unheard of, de-constructing the outfit, once it was applied) to run reverent fingers through the thick hairs. They appeared to swallow all surrounding light, making it look like she dipped her hand in some dry, fibrous ink.

  “Shall we?”

  She nodded, all eager now she had something to show off. Elliot grinned as Jaret met his gaze across her head, received a nod in return. His brother had done well, and he knew it. Elliot's approval of the gambit was the final icing on the cake.

  He had never looked too hard at his place in their relationship. It was a complicated one, difficult to quantify. He secretly suspected that forcing the issue would topple their house of cards. Always found himself unwilling to take the gamble.

  “Me first,” he reminded her gently, moving forward to step out as the suited usher swung the car's gull wing door up.

  Flash bulb pop, from beyond the barely contained cordons to either side as his brooding features were committed to a dozen digital memories. He smiled, sweeping the new coat wide as he stepped to one side, knowing they'd be eating it up. Neppon's public so liked their spectacle.

  Something with a bit more drama...

  Sam's words floated back to him, drawing a chuckle from the back of his throat as he gestured with a hand to his emerging brother.

  The press, and the eager public lining the cordons further up, went wild for their Mayor, applause and wolf whistles rising as he bowed beneath the sweeping searchlights. Jaret and Elliot shared a look, before Jaret stepped to one side, bending to hand his wife out of the car himself (chivalry had always been Jaret's signature piece). The cheering went up a notch, taking on distinctly masculine undertones as the city's First Lady stepped into the limelight in a cascade of shimmering red on black, her poise all effortless elegance beneath the decadent length of fur. Elliot found himself shaking his head as Jaret led her out onto the red carpet, twirling her before the raucous paparazzi like the old blue blood that he was at heart. Questions were launched through the ruckus, all ignored, but for once Elliot knew they'd weather that little indiscretion. Nobody could deny them their public, not with a reaction like that from further up the carpet.

  Nodding to the ushers, Elliot came to place an apologetic hand on his brother's shoulder, pointing that they must sadly move on. Playing his role to the hilt as they moved on up past the adoring fans. Jaret pausing for the obligatory selfies (these carefully scheduled in with and covered by the network and NPD), whilst his wife accepted bouquet after bouquet. By the time she reached the top of the stairs her arms were full, the stole artfully draped about her neck so she might have the use of both hands. As they stepped through the doors two of her aids rushed forward to unburden her. The flowers would find their way to whichever ward had won the lottery this time; it was one of her little ideas that had really grabbed the public's imagination.

  That is why I married her, Jaret had confided late one evening, following a state dinner. Not that I don't love her, he'd temporised quickly, seeing the look in Elliot's eyes. Good God man, have you seen her?

  I live with you, Elliot had replied dryly, drawing a smile from the man whose family had taken him in.

  Yes, well... Jaret had smiled, glancing across the room to where Annalise was waxing lyrical to some visiting senator or other. She gets it. Doesn't just 'understand'. She gets it. Here. And he thumped his chest, just above his heart, causing a coughing fit that ended with Elliot clapping him on the back as he held his drink.

  Wilson had appeared at some point, materialising out of the shadows like some cartoon demon to stand whispering at his masters elbow.

  No puff of smoke though, more's the pity.

  Now they moved on through the comparatively quiet lobby, which was serving tonight as a buffer zone, the blinds drawn across its glass frontage so that each party might have a moments privacy before making their way round to the main floor's entrance.

  “I thought that went well, don't you?”

  “Darling you know it did.” There was the tiniest hint of a scowl marring Lise's brow, though she wasn't making much of an attempt to muster any serious ire.

  Jaret glanced at her, eyes going all innocent-wide as he ran a hand through his salt and pepper quiff. “...what...?”

  Annalise strutted forward to kiss him soundly, one hand about his fiery tie, before backing up to offer him her arm. “There will be words later, Mr.”

  He had the good sense to keep his mouth shut. A wise move, Elliot decided, studying the look in the First Lady's eyes.

  Jaret nodded, gesturing to him. Elliot set off, leading the way once more with boot heels clicking on the marble. From the lobby area they passed down a long side corridor that toured the length of the main hall, hung a right at its far end into another corridor that travelled its southern edge, bringing them to the double doored entrance half way down its length.

  This distance from the lobby served two purposes, Jaret's PA had explained, just before his first function:

  One, it allowed a natural cooling off space, between one media circus and the next.

  Two: containment, should a threat present itself. It robbed any attacker of easy and direct access between the hall and the building's main exit.

  Elliot had absorbed the meaningful look accompanying this second point with all the dignified understanding he assumed was expected of him, carefully holding the sniggering teenager inside until the man was well out of earshot.

  What he wouldn't give some days to have Dionne back, God rest her soul.

  As the current incumbent of the Mayoral seat, it was Jaret's prerogative to arrive to these things last, or 'fashionably late' as he liked to phrase it. What he usually did was announce his intended arrival time in a memo, with a short addendum from his PA to suggest that anyone beneath a certain level of seniority had damn well better be there to applaud his arrival if they didn't want their loyalty coming into question.

  In theory, the more senior party members were permitted to arrive when they wished. In practice, all with an ounce of good sense (and a desire to continue in their office) would also be in attendance by now, baring the intervention of some acceptable emergency.

  The fact that Jaret always added half an hour to his ETA to come up with his actual arrival time was a routine enough occurrence that some of the very senior party members were starting to use the leeway to play a sort of etiquette-based game of chicken to see how closely they could shave their own arrival. Apparently Donnel currently held the crown, though from Wilson's hushed brief going on behind him it appeared that Jones owned the title tonight, having come in just three minutes before they did.

  Trying his luck already, eh. And the election's still a good month away. Elliot found himself impressed at the man's stones for all he disapproved: Jay and Lise had put a lot of effort into this evening, they deserved a good night. Preferably unblemished by the usual political squabbling dressed up as witty repartee that tended to pervade these events.

  Silently, he resolved to see what he could do about putting the man back in his place, without of course stepping outside the bounds of his position. Tricky, but then these occasions often needed livening up with a challenge. His presence here was definitely as a show piece. Direct attacks on public functions were not unheard of, but they were rare. His role tonight would be strictly one of visibility and, later, fending off the advances of drunken wives not as lucky in their lot as Annalise. He was not the only member of the entourage in attendance: Wilson obviously would be walking in with them, and Marie and Kirsty would be back once they'd delivered the blooms to their
deserving recipients. His part was just a lot more visible than theirs.

  He was not alone in his protective duties, of course: there was a squad of the local PD in attendance in full dress, as well as the local arm of the Bureau. He was heartened to see a familiar face lurking behind mirrored shades as they approached the hall's imposing doors, fingers pressed surreptitiously to a discreet ear piece.

  The hand lowered and a smile showed off perfect teeth as the agent extended a hand to shake that of the approaching kya. “El, you dog. Is it me, or are you wearing more make-up than Anna these days?”

  Elliot grinned, glancing over his shoulder at the Mayoral couple, who were laughing at them.

  “There's a reason you've not been given your own office yet, Malone, it's called diplomacy,” Jaret offered, smiling as he came forward to enclose the other man's palm in a double clench. “They put you in charge of this circus?”

  “Who else is stupid enough to be stuck working on Midsummer's Eve?” The agent shook his head good naturedly, accepting Annalise's chaste peck on the cheek with good humour. “You look ravishing as always Anna.”

  “Dag, you're such a charmer. When will you be settling down?”

  He grinned winningly. “When they're not forming an orderly queue.” The shades were lowered briefly for a wink before he raised them again. “You