7.
Frank Bennington stood in front of Christina Taylor’s desk and placed a single rose into her hands. It was his custom to bring a flower each day he arrived late for work.
He lost count long ago of how many flowers he had since handed over to her.
“Your new hire arrived at 8:00 sharp Frank, just like you told him to. Why’d you have him come in so early?”
Frank leaned across Christina’s desk and offered her an appreciative grin.
“What man shouldn’t have the chance to see your beautiful face first thing in the morning?”
Christina appeared less than impressed with the attempted compliment.
“So then why are you never on time?”
Bennington’s mouth turned downward into a frown, his eyes pretending to look deeply hurt.
“Forgive me, oh lady of this office, for I have sinned.”
Christina motioned toward the interior door and the hallway inside.
“Don’t make Mr. O’Shea wait, Frank – it’s rude. Oh, and you look like hell. No time for a shower this morning?”
This time Frank Bennington was actually hurt by the remark, his eyes looking over the front of his shirt and then remaining on his shoes.
“Do I really look that bad? I don’t want to make a bad first impression with the new guy.”
“You look fine, Frank. Now try and get some work done today, okay?”
The interior door to the reception room opened and Colin stepped through. Frank stood up to his full height and stuck out his hand.
“Hello there young man, I’m Frank Bennington. I’m very glad to have you joining our team here. You did some great work for us out there in Ohio during the last campaign. Might have been what actually made the difference on Election Day.”
Colin closed the door behind him and shook Bennington’s hand firmly, looking him in the eye. Bennington sensed the younger man was somewhat surprised at how old the once highly regarded political operative looked these days. How tired, and disheveled - it was a look he received more and more in recent years.
“Thank you so much, Mr. Bennington. I’m a big fan of yours. Read both your books.”
Frank glanced over at Christina while pointing back at Colin.
“You see, Christina, unlike you young Mr. O’Shea here took the time to read my books!”
Christina’s closed her eyes momentarily and then smiled.
“Why would I buy the book, Frank when I get to watch the movie every time you walk in here?”
Bennington ignored her remark, already moving toward the door and hallway on the other side.
“Ok then, Mr. O’Shea, let’s sit down in my office and have a little talk. What did you think of Jolene and Tracy?”
“They seem great. Uh…interesting.”
Bennington paused in front of the door of Jolene and Tracy’s office and whispered back to Colin, his eyes twinkling with humor.
“Is that interesting good or interesting bad?”
Colin shrugged.
“Too early to say, it could break either way.”
Seeming satisfied with the recent college graduate’s response, Bennington continued down toward his office at the end of the short hallway.
“Come on in. Don’t let the clutter fool you, this is the working space of a great political mind!”
The term clutter was an understatement. It was a similar chaos that covered the top of Jolene’s desk, but spread out across an entire room. Bennington’s office was larger than the space Colin shared with Jolene and Tracy, with a decent sized window overlooking one of the meticulously maintained green lawn areas that surrounded the capitol building. The marble floor was littered with crumpled up paper, mismatched throw rugs, and an old pair of leather shoes that looked like they had last been worn during the Carter administration.
The top of Bennington’s desk lay buried under a pile of papers, leather bound folders, and tissues. The entire wall behind the desk was a massive map of Ohio’s congressional districts, with Congressman Latner’s district outlined in red. Four massive file cabinets lined the right side wall of the room, and an almost equally large flat screen television hung from the opposite wall. The other wall was home to a worn, stained hide-a-bed couch that was likely at one time a lavender color, but had long since faded into a myriad of yellows and browns.
On the political operative’s desk, facing the two worn leather chairs facing that desk, was a plaque with an inscription.
It has been said that politics is the second oldest profession. I have learned that it bears a striking resemblance to the first.
The inscription made Colin smile, a smile that Bennington noted.
“That’s a quote from Ronald Reagan. Damn good man. Didn’t care for every bit of his politics, but can’t argue with his on-the-job success.”
Colin was surprised to hear Bennington compliment a Republican.
“We’re Democrats. Isn’t there some rule about putting the words of a Republican on your desk?”
Frank Bennington’s face scrunched together comically, his eyes narrowing into small slits as he stared back at Colin O’Shea.
“I would have you know, I’m an American first, and a Democrat second. You can’t tell me you wouldn’t love to go back to the Reagan years. Talk about some good times! Now have a seat.”
Colin noted a thin layer of sweat spreading across Bennington’s forehead, even though the temperature inside of his office was noticeably cool. The man had the look of one perpetually on the verge of a massive heart attack.
“Ok then young man, let’s talk shop! You are to be the first and last line of communication between your office and mine. That means I want a daily summary report of what is going on in with yourself, Jolene, and Tracy. Scheduling, legislative, but keep it simple. I don’t want a damn book to read. Make it single page, big font, easy to read. I’ll review it, and if it looks ok, that gets forwarded to the congressman. So if you mess up, that means I mess up, and that means the congressman messes up – and nobody here wants that, right?”
Colin nodded his head, his mind still not quite able to grasp he was being given a job description by Frank Bennington.
“Now beyond that daily summary memo, you are to be the primary meet and greet guy in this office. I don’t want to be bothered by that shit, and I know the congressman sure as hell doesn’t want to either. So dress the part. Man, you gotta update that wardrobe. I thought I looked bad! Go out and get yourself a couple nice dress shirts, a navy blue suit, a black suit, a few ties and a decent pair of shoes. Bring back the receipts and the office can reimburse you as long as you keep it reasonable. Don’t go crazy. Take lunch off today to get that done. I don’t want you coming back in here looking like this. Understand?”
Again Colin nodded.
“Ok, so 99% of the people who come in here to meet the congressman will actually be meeting you. You take them into our conference room, smile and nod, look like you really care about whatever concerns they have, take a photo, whatever it takes to have them leaving here feeling like they had their say and that the people here actually give a damn. That leaves us with the other 1%. When one of them wants a sit down, Christine will give you a heads up and me a heads up. You’ll still meet them initially, but then I’ll make time for them and if they’re real big donors, we’ll make sure to pencil the congressman to see them too. And that’s it. That’s your job as a member of the staff for one of the most senior and influential members of the Unites States Congress. Any questions?”
Colin O’Shea opened his mouth and then closed it again, uncertain how he should broach the subject of not having any money on hand to buy new clothes.
“Uh…about the clothes. I don’t have the money to do that. My parents will be sending me some help so I can line up an apartment, but right now, I’m pretty much tapped out.”
Bennington looked horrified.
“You don’t have your housing lined up yet?”
Colin shook his head
, causing Frank to start laughing.
“Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses…you one of those cases, huh? I tell you what, here’s some green to float you for a bit. You can pay me back after you get your first check. That should cover you for some new threads. As for a place to stay, hit up Tracy. He’s got a big apartment over on H Street that his parents are paying for. I’m sure he has a room to rent out to you if you ask. He won’t offer it on his own. If he turns you down, just let me know.”
Bennington placed ten crisp, one hundred dollar bills into Colin’s right hand and then looked down at his desk where his cell phone sat ringing.
“Hmmm…that’s the congressman. I got to take this.”
Colin moved to get up, but Bennington’s right hand motioned for him to remain seated.
“Yes, Congressman what can I do for you?”
Colin O’Shea watched as Frank Bennington’s eyes grew wide, his right hand slowly wiping the layer of sweat from his forehead.
“Really? The Florida governor? Well I’ll be damned. You’re coming to the office? Now? Twenty minutes…ok. Ok, I’ll be here. Sure thing, ok.”
Bennington lowered the phone and looked back at Colin.
‘The congressman is on his way in. Let everyone know.”
Colin rose from his chair and made his way toward the door, pausing as Bennington’s voice called out from behind him.
“After you tell the others about the congressman’s arrival, come back to my office. We’ll wait here and I’ll introduce you to him.”
Colin nodded as he felt his stomach tumble nervously inside of himself while trying very hard to look calm and composed on the outside. Bennington, again proving himself a quick study, offered the new arrival a reassuring smile.
“He’s just a man, kid and not even a very good one at that. You’ll do fine. Welcome to the fun house.”
8.
“Katalina, what is that on your neck? Those marks?”
Kat covered the area on her neck where the congressman had left a bruised outline of his fingers from choking her.
“It is nothing, Ivanka.”
Kat attempted to walk past the Russian madam, knowing the older woman was staring intently at the area on her neck. The woman missed nothing when it came to her business, and the young men and women who offered their services to her clients, were very much Ivanka’s business.
“Katalina, come here - now.”
Kat knew there was no way to hide from Ivanka’s request. She lowered her hand and stepped toward the woman who had taken her in and given her employment nine months earlier.
“Those are bruises Katalina. Who did this? Who was the client who did this to you?”
Ivanka Vetrov had come to the United States shortly after the fall of the Soviet Union. She had been alone, impoverished, unable to even feed herself regularly. She had no children, her womb unable to conceive, but in the absence of motherhood, there was a near overwhelming yearning for success. Her life in the Soviet Union had been one of compliance, fear, and soul draining repetition of waking up, taking the bus to the nearby factory, working her twelve hour shift, and then returning home. Having arrived in the United States, Ivanka was determined to live her new life following her own rules and seeking to meet her own expectations.
Survival in those years pushed her to the streets and selling her body. She did so willingly, and, given her natural beauty and her knack for meeting the needs of her clients without them having to tell her what those needs were, she enjoyed relatively rapid success. It took her nearly ten years to save up the money to purchase the red bricked Tudor styled commercial building in Washington D.C.’s predominantly African American, Truxton Circle neighborhood. There she converted office spaces into rooms for the young women and men who arrived from Russia and sought employment by means of their bodies. These rooms provided a home for the newly arrived immigrants. The act of prostitution was never conducted within Ivanka’s building. Her employees always went to the client’s home, hotel room, or place of business.
For the protection Ivanka provided them, her employees gave up half of their income. This forced contribution was used in part to cover the expenses for their room and board, meals, and a clothing allowance. Despite her cold demeanor, and unbending demand that her house rules were followed to the letter, Ivanka’s most pressing concern was for the health and safety of these young Russians who came to America and to her with dreams of success, much as she had done decades earlier. That is why when she saw the bruising on Kat’s neck, her Old World Russian fury began to well up from within her.
“I asked you a question, Katalina. Those are the marks of a man. Who did this to you?”
Kat looked down at her feet nervously, not wanting to cause trouble between Ivanka and the congressman.
“It was rough sex play is all, Ivanka. It is nothing to be concerned about.”
Kat both admired and feared Ivanka Vetrov. She knew of the older woman’s ties to organized crime. Ivanka’s younger brother Arman, who provided security for his sister’s business, was a well known and feared enforcer for the Russian mafia in Washington D.C. Arman was a large, imposing man with a stare Kat had learned to avoid. There was something in his eyes that terrified her.
“Was this from the congressman? He has been requesting you a great deal lately.”
Kat knew she couldn’t lie. Ivanka kept very close watch on the comings and goings of all of her employees.
“Yes, but it’s like I said…just rough sex play.”
“Arman! Come in here please.”
Kat felt panic grab hold of her as the sound of Arman’s heavy footsteps echoed off of the dark wood floors of Ivanka’s richly furnished residence. He wore a black leather trench coat, his long dark hair combed back from his forehead and tied into a pony tail that hung over his upper back. His wide, cleanly shaven face was not ugly, but there was a brutish, dangerous quality to it. And then his eyes – deeply set beneath his brow, almost black, and rarely blinking. When he looked at Kat, or anyone else except his sister, those eyes were a constant reminder of the quick potential for terrible violence.
“Look at her neck, Arman – the bruises.”
Arman’s thick fingered hand grasped Kat’s chin and turned her head to the side while those terrifying eyes scanned the bruises. He then looked back at Ivanka and shrugged.
“So?”
Ivanka’s own eyes suddenly matched the danger of her brother’s. He knew better than to disregard her fierce determination to keep her employees safe from harm at the hands of clients, regardless of how powerful or wealthy those clients might be.
“Harming anyone living here is not something I take lightly Arman, nor should you.”
Again Arman shrugged.
“What? It’s a little bruise. She’s a whore. It happens.”
Ivanka’s right hand struck with incredible speed and surprising force across her brother’s face. Much to Kat’s stunned and silent shock, Arman’s eyes lowered to the floor as his normally deep and arrogant voice took on a much softer, more conciliatory tone.
“My apologies, sister. You are right, any who would do harm to one of them, does harm to us. What would you have me do?”
Ivanka stared at Kat, her silence filling the air around the three of them like a heavy curtain descending slowly over a stage.
“Nothing for now, but Katalina if anything like this happens again, you are to inform me immediately, do you understand?”
Arman’s eyes widened slightly has he looked down at Kat, his body towering over her much smaller, slight form.
“So it was your congressman who did this, eh? Big man likes to squeeze the neck of such a little thing.”
Kat looked over at Ivanka and nodded.
“I understand, Ivanka. It will not happen again.”
Ivanka smiled warmly at Kat as she walked over and gave her a small hug.
“I am always here to protect you, Katalina no matter who intends to do you harm. If ther
e is one thing you can count on in this life, it is that. As long as you call this place your home, you are safe. Now go up to your room and rest. Dinner will be ready within the hour.”
After Kat walked to her room upstairs, Arman looked down at his sister.
“What if it happens again?”
Without hesitation, Ivanka Vetrov answered her brother.
“Then we let the congressman know such things are now allowed. And if his ears prove themselves unable to hear that warning…”
Private Detective: BENNINGTON P.I.: A thrilling four-novel political murder mystery private detective series... Page 4