by T. F. Jacobs
Threats already. Love it. I nod again. I contemplate recording this conversation, but it’s already too late. It’d be obvious.
“Your job isn’t to worry about what is inside of the legislation or contracts we want passed. Your job is simply to make it happen.” She sits up straighter to make sure she has my attention and puffs out her chest.
I keep my eyes on hers.
“How am I supposed to make ‘it’ happen if I don’t know what’s in the legislation?” I ask.
She tilts her head to the side as if I just spoke Chinese.
“Was I not clear when I said you will do whatever you are told in order to make sure what we want gets passed? You can look the papers over for the basics, but that isn’t your fucking job.”
I don’t respond. I don’t enjoy being talked down to as if I am five, but I take it, because if I don’t, I know she’ll have me replaced in an instant.
“As I was saying, your job is to make it happen. Our donation cap is one twenty-five. Anything over that and we start to look suspicious.”
One twenty-five? Is she implying what I think she is?
“I just want to make sure I am clear—”
She raises her hand to cut me off.
She stands. “We have one hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars we can use on an as-needed basis. That’s one twenty-five per person.”
My mouth drops just slightly. She’s talking about bribes.
“If they need a school donation, children’s tuition, a memorial in their district, future campaign contributions, a trip, or just a little spending money, we do it. But everything runs through me first, and then through our foundation. Nothing traces directly from American True Care. Clear?”
I nod. I can’t believe what I am hearing. I wish I was recording this.
“I don’t care what you have to do—to whomever—to make these things happen, but they better happen, and you better not get caught. Got it?”
I nod again. I’m speechless. I’m 99 percent certain she is referring to sexual favors.
“Good. First assignment is a bill we need you to present to Congressman Byers.”
I look up. This isn’t some low-level government employee; this is a congressman we are talking about.
“I hear that his daughter is having some trouble at St. Dorothy’s private school, and they are thinking of dropping her. I also hear they are looking for donations for a new fountain.”
“I can get that done,” I respond, surprising myself with how swiftly my answer comes. “Rebecca, I am trained in law and know how to persuade. I can assure you this won’t be a problem.”
“Better not be. My assistant has your plane ticket and hotel information. Get it from her on your way out. She also has your new phone, and the only number in it is mine. You only call me in an emergency or when you need a donation approved. Got it?”
“Got it. Thank you, Rebecca.”
“Oh yeah, and your office is three doors down from mine. Congratulations, or whatever other bullshit you want to hear.” She turns back to her computer.
Some training that was.
Her assistant hands me my plane ticket to Sacramento, which leaves at 7:00 a.m. tomorrow morning; my hotel reservation for one night at the Grand, a five-star hotel in downtown; a binder containing the contents of the bill; and a BlackBerry box. Inside the box is a black touchpad phone. Figures. They want to make sure my phone isn’t hacked, which is why government officials use them too. The safest and most secure phones out there.
I walk to my new office and push the door open. The marble floor makes me feel powerful, and I notice a glass desk just like Rebecca’s in the corner. There’s a view of the parking lot, but it still beats the cubicle with a view of the water cooler that I’m used to.
So this is how the rich and powerful live. I smile. Lexi, I’m going to get this done.
. . .
At home that evening I dial the number they gave me.
It rings.
The other end picks up. There’s a crackling.
“What have you got?” the deep, gravelly voice answers.
“I’m in. I fly to Sacramento tomorrow to meet with Congressman Byers. They want me to bribe him into presenting a bill, by whatever means necessary.”
The phone goes dead.
I stare. My eyes wide. Did I say something wrong?
Now the phone is ringing with an unlisted number.
I answer.
“Hello?”
“No names this time. What is your objective?” the mechanical voice replies.
I think about who might be listening in and know I need to tailor my message.
“It’s a bill. It’s over a hundred pages but I scanned through it today. It’s about coverage for vaccines. Something about age limits and insurance price regulation.”
“Good. This is very good. We are going to need a copy of this. Do you have a scanner?”
“Yes, I’ll do it tonight.”
“Once you make the copies, leave them in your fridge until we meet again.”
I look over to the fridge. It seems like a strange request.
“And, David, you have to record whatever happens with the congressman. Are we clear?”
“Yeah.”
The line goes dead.
My eyes drift back to the picture of Lexi and me strolling along the beach. I feel a tremendous amount of pressure not only to successfully bribe a congressman I’ve never met, but to simultaneously incriminate him without getting myself caught. My chest feels heavy, but looking at the picture, I’m reminded of why I’m doing this.
Lexi.
. . .
After a first-class, one-hour flight to Sacramento, I’m picked up in a brand-new black BMW.
I’m dropped off at the Grand, and when I pull out a five for the driver, he waves it off and insists he’s already been paid.
After checking in with an overly friendly reception staff, I make my way to the thirtieth floor.
I open the heavy metal door and am taken aback as I stare across to a glass wall with a view of the state capital below.
A seventy-inch flat screen sits in front of a black-tiled hallway that leads to a lavish waterfall shower.
I could get used to this.
I set my bag down and change into my fitted navy-blue suit. It’s the one Lexi always preferred to see me in because she said it showed off my figure—my butt—better than any of the others. Maybe this is all moving too fast. Part of me feels that I should probably still be at home, coming to terms with my loss. But the other part of me longs for this. I want to bring this corrupt healthcare system down, and I can feel that I am on the right path.
An hour later I’m in the dimly lit hotel bar’s lounge, sitting at a high table.
I recognize the congressman the second he walks through the door. His chiseled cheekbones, perfectly styled salt-and-pepper hair, and sharp gray suit are certain to catch the attention of any onlooker. I’m sure his looks played a part in why he did so well in the polls.
I gulp down a swig of my bourbon while pressing the record button on my phone, then slide it into my pocket.
Here goes nothing.
I stand to greet him as he makes his way past the other patrons.
“Congressman Byers, David Higgins. It’s great to finally meet you,” I offer as he takes my hand. His grip feels skull crushing. He looks me square in the eyes without saying a word. It’s a power play.
He loosens his grip, then smiles. “Likewise.” The way he speaks reminds me of a dignified weatherman.
We sit.
“Order you a drink?”
He raises his index finger as the pretty, young, blonde waitress makes her way past our table. She turns to him.
“Honey, would you mind getting me a Jack and Coke on the rocks?” he asks her, but it isn’t a question.
“Sure thing,” she replies with the bat of an eye. He stares at her butt as she walks off.
The nerve of this assho
le. I already hate him.
He looks over at me, then raises his eyebrows and smiles.
I don’t return the look.
“Congressman, thank you for meeting me. I wanted to assure you that I am in your pocket, and want to make sure that we have a mutually beneficial relationship now and into the future. Whatever I can do, please tell me.”
He takes a deep breath. “Look, I don’t know what happened to Kevin, but I don’t really care much to start over with you. My constituents are happy, and the state is doing well. My campaign will fund itself. I don’t need American True Care in my pocket.”
My heart starts to beat harder. He’s implying campaign funding. I can only pray something doesn’t happen on my phone to interrupt the recording.
“Congressman, I don’t want to sound naive, but I am not privy to what you and Kevin had worked out before. I want to start a new page. What exactly did Kevin offer? I assure you we can do better.”
He studies me. He thinks I’m ignorant.
The waitress brings over his drink.
“Thanks, doll,” he says. He touches the small of her back. She smiles, then walks back to the bar.
He watches her again, then turns to take a long drag of the drink.
The glass clatters against the table when he drops it.
“Look, I’m sure you’re a nice kid, but like I said, I’m doing pretty good on my own.”
This isn’t good. I need to salvage it. I need to close him; I have nothing yet.
“We have an impressive bill that would look good if it came from you. Vaccinations are a hot-button issue. A bill on the matter will only show voters that you are current on the issues they care about.”
I slide the hundred-page bill across the table.
He finishes his drink.
He stands.
“Thanks for the drink.”
He turns. The bill is still on the table.
“Wait,” I say in a panic.
He tilts his head.
“What about your daughter? Sarah, is it? I hear she’s having trouble in school.”
He turns around to face me again.
A pang of relief washes across me.
“Don’t you ever bring up my family. You understand me?” His eyes are glued on mine as he stands above me.
I nod. “Sorry, Congressman. I just thought—”
He raises his hand to cut me off. Then he turns around and walks back through the tables.
Fuck!
I try to compute solutions. My mind spins. Palms sweat.
He’s gone.
I’ve got nothing. I pull the phone out of my pocket and press the button to stop recording. I’ve failed, and I’ll surely be fired.
Then a thought occurs to me. Did Rebecca set me up for failure? Did she know how this would go?
Fuck.
I need to fix this.
I head back up to my room.
. . .
I’m standing outside his office. A placard above the door reads “Congressman Byers.” The historic wood door swings open. “Have a good night, Martha,” he says as he strides through. He immediately stops when he sees me.
“Congressman, I apologize for interrupting, but I was wondering if you might want to come out with me this evening?”
He looks at me. Then to the woman next to me.
“I also brought Miley. Have you two met?”
She smiles, and instantly I can tell he recognizes her.
He softens.
“I don’t believe we have,” he says in that famous weatherman voice. He offers his hand.
The blonde waitress from the bar takes it. She’s wearing a formfitting black dress, surely worn to help with tips. She bats her eyes.
“Miley,” she returns.
It cost me $300 to convince her to come with me. I figured it was worth the risk.
“I suppose I can could join you for just a bit.” He glances at his watch.
And now I’ve got him.
. . .
The congressman has already put back three Jack and Cokes in the last thirty minutes. The room is dark, and music is loud in the distance.
His arm is around Miley’s shoulder, and she’s sipping on a watermelon margarita. I’m sitting on his other side in the low black-leather booth.
People are dancing to the beat of some electronic mix.
I nurse my glass of bourbon, then decide it’s time.
“Congressman Byers,” I say, trying to make sure he can hear me over the music. I sure as heck hope my phone can hear as well. “I heard you loud and clear earlier. I want to assure you of that. I’ve heard that St. Dorothy’s is in need of a fountain, and American True Care has been looking for an excuse to put one in somewhere. Seems like a nice fit.”
I look over at him for a reaction. Hope I haven’t gone too far.
His lips curl into a smile. “David,” he says while leaning in. “I think that might not be such a bad idea.” The problem is that he said it too low.
I’m pressing my luck, but I need to make sure it’s recorded.
“Can you repeat that a little louder?”
He leans in closer. “I said, I think that might not be such a bad idea.”
This time I know I’ve got it. I smile back.
“Do you have a room?” he asks through slurred words.
I watch him, somewhat surprised by his bluntness. Then I immediately recognize this as my opportunity.
I calculate how I can get this on tape and consider asking him flat out what he wants my room for, but decide that would be too suspicious. Instead I simply nod, then pull out my room card.
He gives me a smug grin. I want to shove my fist into his face and expose him now. Every moral fiber of my being tells me this is taking it too far. What would Lexi think of me?
I try to remind myself that I am doing this for her. I don’t have enough evidence yet. This is only my first objective. And when I do get where I need to be, the congressman will get his.
“Shall we head out?” he asks Miley.
She looks to me with an expression I can’t quite make out, but that I guess means, This wasn’t part of the deal.
I shrug.
“I’m not sure. What do you think, David?” she asks.
Shit.
My mind spins. I need to make a decision now. I don’t want Miley to do this. I know it’s not right. If I agree to get them to my room together, I am condoning prostitution and can get in major trouble myself. If I don’t agree, I will likely lose him.
After another moment, I open my mouth to speak, but Miley starts talking first: “I think we shall.” She gives me a telling look. “But let me just use the restroom first.”
“Meet you outside,” the congressman replies. He is ecstatic.
“I’m going to use the restroom as well. See you out there,” I add.
When I get outside the restrooms, she’s waiting for me.
“If I’m going to go through with this, I need more.”
Part of me wants to let her go. I don’t want her to do this any more than she does.
But I need her to.
“How much?” I ask.
“Another three hundred.”
“Are you kidding me? I already gave you all my cash.”
I pull out my wallet and find a twenty. Do I call Rebecca for money? The first three hundred was out of my own pocket.
“Well then, it sounds like you will have a lonely congressman tonight,” she replies. The ease with which she says it tells me this isn’t her first rodeo.
I should have seen this coming.
“Hold on.”
I walk out of earshot from her and pull out my BlackBerry. I hesitate before pressing the button, then give in.
It rings once.
Then twice.
Then a third time.
“This better be an emergency,” an angered woman returns on the other end.
“I’m close to closing the congressman. He’s agreed to the fountain
. And I’m going to need three hundred dollars.”
The other end is silent for a long moment.
“Are you out of your goddamn mind? You call me over three hundred dollars at this time of night?”
My eyes shift rapidly from side to side as I think of what to say next.
“It’s important. There’s a woman,” I start.
“Hang the fuck up right this second. If you are talking about what I think you are, then you are stupider than I thought.”
The line goes dead.
Shit!
My breathing is completely uneven. She said herself to get the deal done any way I could. I figured this type of thing was implied.
The BlackBerry buzzes.
Don’t ever talk to me on the line about that type of thing again. Three hundred dollars petty cash is approved. Finish the goddamn deal. HOWEVER you need to.
My panic fades.
She approved it. It worked!
I walk back to Miley, who is texting on her phone.
“Okay three hundred more. I’ll stop at the ATM on the way,” I say.
She smirks. “Good.”
She bats her eyes, then walks by. Her hand brushes against my abs as she does, and she slowly runs her fingers along them.
Something inside me unravels, and I grab her hand hard. Anger flushes through me.
“Don’t touch me again,” I snap. I feel guilty. Ashamed. I think of Lexi.
She pulls her hand back.
“Sorry, prick.”
We walk out of the club in silence.
The congressman is waiting outside the door, and the second he sees us, he wraps his arms around our shoulders.
We stop at the ATM and no one says a thing. He acts oblivious, even though I know that he knows goddamn well what is going on.
The next thing I know, we are outside of my hotel room.
I’m buzzed, but not nearly as much as the congressman.
This is it. I have to capture this moment, but without getting caught.
I’ve tried to think this through the entire walk back, but my mind isn’t functioning at its highest levels with the alcohol weighing it down.
If I don’t capture this, I have nothing.
“Shall we go inside?” he asks impatiently.
I consider, then pull out my phone, pretending I got a text.
It’s time.
I slide my finger across the screen and press the button to record a video. I know that if he sees what I’m doing, I’m done. My heartbeat quickens.