Whitewash

by Alex Kava

  Washington, D.C.

  Jason ordered his second Jack and Coke. The first one had gone down a bit too quickly. He’d slow it down, not because he had to, but because he wanted to be sharp. He wanted all his reflexes firing and on alert.

  He stayed at the end of the bar, swiveling the stool to survey the tavern. The lights were dim. Cigar smoke prevailed over cigarette, but the clouds stayed mostly over certain booths in the corner. Jason hated the stink, hated how it would cling to his clothes and stay in his hair when he got home tonight.

  He recognized a staffer for Texas senator Max Holden. Zach was tall, blond and lanky with a pedigree that insured handsome be used in his description. He had elbowed Jason into the wall at a charity basketball game they had both participated in. Thing is, they were supposed to be on the same team at the time. The asshole had shoved Jason out of the way just so he could hog the ball. He couldn’t remember Zach’s last name. Probably something short of Kennedy. It didn’t matter. Mentally, Jason crossed him off the list, dismissed him. Zach didn’t play well with others. It’d be too much work to pry any information out of him. Nothing there. Or was there?

  A messenger for the same service Jason used to work for, a messenger who Jason recognized but couldn’t name, put a hand on Zach’s back. Jason watched the hand trail down a bit too far south to be anything less than an advance. Ordinarily it wouldn’t mean much. What’s a little flirting in D.C.? Except the messenger was male. Jason wondered what Senator Max Holden would think, especially since Holden was the strapping cowboy of the John Wayne era much more so than the Brokeback Mountain type.

  Jason tucked the tidbit away for further consideration. Right now he was more interested in the brunette across the room, the center of attention for a group of probable staffers. They were holding their glasses up, toasting her. Jason was pretty sure he had seen the brunette with Senator Shirley Malone. If he remembered correctly, she had been feeding the senator notes and briefs at the last session of Congress.

  Jason took a sip of his Jack and Coke, a long, satisfied sip. This was more like it. He could be charming. Okay, he was out of practice, but he was capable. Where better to get information, to find out Senator Malone’s weaknesses, than one of her own. It was like infiltrating the enemy camp. Talk ’em up a bit. Have a little fun, a few drinks. Loosen up the tongue. Who knows what else.

  Jason didn’t realize his attention had been so obviously focused until he heard someone behind him say, “She is something else, isn’t she?”

  He glanced around, half hoping the comment hadn’t been meant for him, that he hadn’t been caught. No such luck.

  “Excuse me?” he said, knowing it was too late to play dumb.

  The tall, attractive woman came around him and hiked herself onto the stool beside him without effort, not in the least concerned that her skirt had also hiked up to reveal the promise of shapely thighs. She didn’t seem to mind that he noticed, his eyes no longer paying attention to the younger woman across the room. Jason only hoped that his jaw hadn’t fallen, because that was exactly how it felt.

  “It’s her twenty-eighth birthday,” the woman said, setting her wineglass on the bar. “A worthy cause for celebration and a very worthy young woman. Are you a friend of Lindy’s?”

  So much for charm. Jason couldn’t even find his voice. Instead, his brain was screaming at him, I can’t believe I’m sitting next to Senator Shirley Malone.

  25

  Tallahassee, Florida

  Leon signed the receipt, proud of the one-line scribble that started with an L and then flatlined. By now the signature was second nature though Leon wasn’t his Christian name. He had given himself the nickname years ago when he decided to go into business for himself. It was something he picked up from a book about chameleons.

  He’d actually bought one of the lizards from a guy who ran an exotic-animal store in Boca Raton. Well, it wasn’t so much a store as the back dock of a warehouse. The guy had all kinds of lizards, pretty much any size and color you could imagine. The chameleons fascinated Leon, changing colors right before his eyes, half the lizard green on a leaf and the other half still brown as the bark. How cool would that be if people could do that crap? But Leon didn’t bother with disguises like so many of his colleagues. He didn’t need to. He already had the best one of all.

  The waitress picked up his receipt while she filled his coffee cup. Not a word. Barely a glance. If someone stopped her later and asked about him she’d never be able to describe him. She’d hardly remember him. That was the beauty of being plain and ordinary. No one ever noticed Leon. He couldn’t buy a better disguise if he tried. And he didn’t ruin it by wearing bright colors or anything trendy. No stripes. No patterns. No cute designer logos. He wore short-sleeved, button-down shirts, the kind that didn’t need ironing and were easy to pack. Same with the sport coats and trousers. Even his sunglasses were off the rack at Walgreens. Absolutely nothing to draw attention to himself.

  So yeah, he may have gotten Leon from “chameleon,” but not because the lizard could disguise itself and change colors. The book said the word chameleon meant “earth lion.” Lions were the king of the jungle. Life was a freaking jungle. Leon liked thinking of himself as a lion.

  He sipped the coffee. No use wasting the warm-up. He fished out a couple of Tums from his pants pocket, checked them for lint and separated them from a bullet, a nail clipper, three dimes and a quarter, then popped the Tums into his mouth. Fucking indigestion. In the past two years he’d survived a box cutter slitting his throat, a gunshot through the shoulder and more broken bones than he cared to count, but in the end it’d probably be his own fucking gas that did him in.

  He took another sip of coffee to wash down the crumbs of antacids, wishing for a beer instead of the cup of joe. But then he didn’t choose this two-bit diner. One of those occupational hazards. And from the looks of it, Leon knew he wouldn’t be frequenting any bars or clubs on this duty call. Although she’d surprised him earlier, stopping by a liquor store and picking up what looked like a bottle of whiskey. Maybe she wasn’t as straitlaced as she looked. ’Course, it could have just been that freaky lightning storm and the even freakier security guard. Leon still wasn’t sure what the hell that was all about, but it certainly kept him in the shadows when he could have taken advantage of a prime opportunity. All kinds of weird accidents happen when the electricity goes off.

  He sat in the far corner of the diner with his back to her, but he could watch her in the plate glass mirror above the soda fountain. For a small woman she could sure put it away—cheeseburger, onion rings smothered in ketchup. But just one cup of coffee that she’d been nursing for the last half hour—the burger and rings devoured long ago. He’d watched her wave off the waitress three times, nursing the original brew while absorbed in the contents of a plain manila folder. Probably the same stuff that got her into trouble in the first place. He didn’t care what was in the folder. It wasn’t his job to figure out what the trouble was. Nope, his job was simple—stop the trouble.

  He waited for her to get out the door, and then he left the three dimes and a quarter for a tip, pocketed the bullet and nail clippers and followed.

  26

  Washington, D.C.

  Jason offered to buy her another glass of wine. She let him. Kendall Jackson. Chardonnay, not cheap, but not pretentious. He filed that tidbit away. He ordered himself another Jack and Coke, but left one half-full on the bar when they moved to a small booth in the corner. More than ever he needed to keep a clear head.

  When he admitted he’d never met her staffer, Lindy, Senator Malone offered an introduction. From somewhere he’d been able to pull out enough charm to decline by saying he’d much rather talk to her. That’s when he asked if he could buy her another wine. She floored him. He didn’t expect her to say yes. Now he wasn’t sure what to do. She obviously didn’t know who he was, but how the hell could he pull off pretending not to know who she was? He had seen her in the halls of Congress. As
a staffer he had been invisible to her. But after tonight she’d start to see him.

  “I’m Jason Brill,” he decided to tell her straight out and extended his hand. He smiled, as if a formal introduction was called for, but then held her hand long enough to relay that it certainly wasn’t all he intended.

  “I’m—”

  “Senator Shirley Malone,” he cut her off. “Senior Republican from the great state—a red state—of Indiana.”

  “Now I remember you. You work for John.”

  He didn’t even try to hide his surprise.

  “From the other side of the aisle,” she continued, but she was smiling. “An enemy?” And she arched a graceful eyebrow as she sipped her wine.

  “Enemy?” He feigned his best hurt look, even throwing back his head a little, pretending to take her sucker punch in the jaw. “No, not an enemy. Let’s say an admirer.”

  “Oh, really?”

  Too much sarcasm and Jason was worried he’d laid it on way too thick, but they were playing with each other, weren’t they? Maybe he needed to sit back and let her set the rules.

  “Yes, really,” he said, his mind flipping through stored data, trying to access and retrieve information. “I thought you did an excellent job chairing the commission on federal disaster relief for last summer. You were objective and fair in spite of the fact that Indiana suffered through fifteen tornadoes last year.”

  She met Jason’s eyes over the rim of her wineglass as she took another sip. Was it too much?

  “Sixteen,” she said with another smile.

  And Jason felt the surge of adrenaline like he had just sunk a three-pointer from half court. He was better at this than he thought. He’d have to thank his uncle Louie, who had taught Jason the art of bullshit at a very young age.

  “Go tell your aunt I said how pretty she looks with that new hairdo.” Jason remembered that one was worth a buck to him, but Uncle Louie probably got laid.

  Senator Malone sat back in the booth obviously more relaxed and, more important, comfortable with him now.

  Jason sipped his Jack and Coke, trying to retrieve other data. In this dim light she looked younger, softer, and actually pretty. Learn your enemy’s weaknesses, but also what they care most about. Discover someone’s passion and usually you can discover that person’s greatest vulnerability. Or as Uncle Louie would say, “Figure out what a guy gives a shit about. Take it away or just pretend to and you’ll have that guy on his knees, beggin’ and crying for his momma.”

  Jason didn’t exactly want Senator Shirley Malone on her knees, begging. Or did he? Jesus! He shook the sexual innuendo out of his head. It’d been too long, way too long.

  Then without warning she leaned forward almost as if she had read his mind. “So what’s a smart, good-looking guy like you doing working for John Quincy?”

  He may be able to get an invitation to her suite if he played his cards right. Unlike other senators who bought extravagant homes or condos in D.C.’s finest neighborhoods, Jason knew Senator Malone simply rented a suite at the Mayflower. Rumor had it her room service was always just for one. But she was definitely flirting with him and he used to be good at this. That she was older, classier, way out of his league should have made the challenge all the more appealing.

  Yet his attraction to her unnerved him. He wasn’t quite sure he understood it. He liked her. He hadn’t expected to like her. Somehow it made the game unbalanced, not fair, his weakness exposed when he was supposed to expose hers.

  After about an hour of what he could have called mental foreplay, he offered to walk her to her car even though her driver was out front waiting. Then he watched her get in, still smiling at him as she waved goodbye.

  He decided to walk back to his place. The night air felt cool for June. Maybe in the morning he’d be kicking himself. But for now if he wanted to manipulate the Appropriations Committee vote, he decided he’d need to take another look at Senator Max Holden’s gay boy, Zach.

  He hadn’t gotten far when he heard his name being called. Jason turned to find the birthday girl, Lindy, running to catch up with him.

  27

  Tallahassee, Florida

  Sabrina actually looked forward to her Saturday movie nights. She had read somewhere that the major difference between extroverts and introverts was how they got their energy. Extroverts needed to rejuvenate themselves by being around people, bouncing their ideas off someone else and being able to discuss their thoughts and feelings.

  Introverts, however, required time alone with their thoughts, having time to themselves to recharge without needing to explain or talk to anyone. Sabrina knew she fit comfortably with the latter and accepted it. Though it was oftentimes difficult to explain to extroverts that she enjoyed her Saturday-night rejuvenation sessions. She needed her Saturday-night alone time. So tonight she was home alone with Alfred Hitchcock.

  She had chosen one of her favorites, Rear Window, with Jimmy Stewart and Grace Kelly. It didn’t matter how many times she had seen it, it still made her jump.

  When she and Eric were kids they were allowed to stay up late in the summertime to watch classic movies. Lewis and Martin were Eric’s favorites. He was a sucker for comedies, even the romantic ones, especially with Cary Grant, which wasn’t much of a surprise looking back. Sabrina guessed Eric thought himself a bit of a Cary Grant, maybe with a little James Bond mixed in.

  She, however, loved psychological suspense, classics like Gaslight; Sorry, Wrong Number, and of course any of Alfred Hitchcock’s films. Over the years she had built up an extensive video library and she and Eric had gotten together at least one Saturday a month to watch a favorite. Sabrina would order pizza, half veggie and half Italian sausage with green pepper. Eric would bring the cold beer, always some kind of expensive ale for the two of them to try. Tonight she settled for popping a frozen pizza into the oven and a Bud Lite.

  Nights like this she realized how much she missed her brother and how much she missed her old life. The old saying that you never know how good you’ve got it until it’s all gone couldn’t be truer.

  Sabrina heard a noise outside her condo and paused the movie, leaving Jimmy Stewart with his binoculars and his broken leg. He was just starting to believe that his neighbor may have actually killed his own wife.

  She listened and waited, taking a slow sip of the beer. Maybe the movie had kicked her imagination into high gear. The whole day had been like that, with Lansik’s disappearance and the thunderstorm knocking out the electricity. The movie was supposed to be her escape from reality, not a reminder of it. Maybe tonight one of Eric’s favorites would have been a wiser choice.

  She turned the interruption into an intermission and decided to get more pizza from where she had left it on the counter that separated her kitchen from her living room. She reached for a slice and out of the corner of her eye she saw a shadow move outside her kitchen window.

  Sabrina froze. She held her breath and listened again. She hadn’t left a light on in the kitchen. Didn’t think she needed one, depending instead on the glow of the TV. But now the room seemed too dark.

  In the tinted blue light her eyes found the back door’s knob. She had locked the dead bolt. She was sure she had. Still, she listened and watched.

  She heard a rustling sound outside the door, but the knob didn’t move. She held her breath again. Her eyes darted around the kitchen, searching for a weapon. She eased her way around the counter and grabbed a cast-iron skillet hanging above the range.

  A scrape against the outside wall stopped her so suddenly she thought her heart had also stopped. Then a high-pitched screech made her jump. She almost dropped the skillet. A thump-thump followed before Sabrina realized the screech belonged to an animal. Of course, Lizzie.

  Relief instantly washed over her, but she stopped at the door’s peephole. The fish-eye view of empty sidewalks and an empty street satisfied her. She unlocked and opened the door just enough to look out.

  Sure enough, Sabrina saw the
last of Lizzie, a white tail disappearing into the crepe myrtle. Before she closed the door she glanced at the area under the kitchen window. Nothing there. Absolutely nothing, including no bush, no flowerpots, no ledge, nothing that would explain that the shadow she had seen could have been a cat’s.

  Light refracted in a lot of different ways, from a lot of different sources. There could be a number of reasons a prowling cat’s shadow could appear three feet higher in front of Sabrina’s kitchen window. This is what she told herself as she closed and locked the dead bolt on the back door.

  28

  Sunday, June 11

  Washington, D.C.

  Jason left a note and passed through the lobby before the concierge’s desk was even open. He didn’t stop for a receipt of the charges. He didn’t stop, period, afraid someone would recognize him.

  Last night the Washington Grand Hotel had been the first to come to Jason’s mind, in fact, the only one he could think of while in the cab with Lindy’s tongue probing his ear. He’d never even been inside the hotel’s lobby before last night. He had, however, reserved rooms many times for Senator Allen when the senator had friends or colleagues in town who needed a discreet and luxurious place to do business. Jason knew the senator didn’t actually mean business. It was a sort of code between them. Maybe that’s why it was the first place to come to Jason’s mind when he decided he needed a discreet place.

  God! He couldn’t believe he’d left a note. How lame was that? But all he could think about was escaping.

  He waved down a cab though the morning air and the quiet would have done him some good, especially with the fog that capped the city. At four o’clock in the morning no one was out on the streets of Washington except the homeless. Those who made their living on the streets were finished conducting business and tucked away somewhere.