by Taylor Lee
Like the accomplished orator that he was, Senator Walker paused for effect. “However, having the right to say what you wish is not the same as having the wisdom to know when you shouldn’t. You might want to think on the words of a truly great U.S. Congressman, Sam Rayburn, who said, “No one has a finer command of language than the person who keeps his mouth shut.” At the appreciative laughter from the crowd, and now obviously enjoying himself, Senator Walker sauntered to the edge of the stage and said with a grin, “On that point I will only add one of my favorite quotes: You never saw a fish on the wall with its mouth shut.”
Shouts of laugher broke from the crowd. Senator Walker stepped back, the smile lighting his face confirmed that in his mind, his clever joke was the final strike in taking down his opponent. Ian concurred. Compared to the sweating, flustered looking Brunson, John Walker positively exuded equanimity. Ian only wished that he felt as sanguine as his candidate obviously did.
As the crowd rushed forward to capture the attention of the candidates, Ian reached for Diamond’s arm. Nodding to Senator Walker who was being swarmed by eager supporters as well as reporters, Ian motioned to Peter Kennedy who was standing off to the side. Peter’s quizzical expression as he gazed at his jovial candidate shaking hands with his excited supporters, confirmed that the aide was as challenged by the unruly tenor of the debate as Ian was.
Ian kept his voice low.
“Grab Peter now, while you have the chance. Don’t let him off the hook. Be forceful. Insist that he tells you what he knows.”
Diamond tugged her hand free and rolled her eyes.
“It isn’t necessary to instruct me on how to get important information. Believe it or not, Col. Ross, I’ve had a few hundred opportunities to interrogate enemies, much less friends. Now I’m sure that my experience doesn’t begin to come close to yours…”
Startled at her annoyed response, Ian shook his head.
“Goddammit, Riley. You know damn well I didn’t mean to suggest that you don’t know how to get information.” He ran a distracted hand through his carefully coiffed hair and glared at her. He kept his voice low but didn’t hide his annoyance.
“Clearly the conversation that you and I are going to have can’t come soon enough. Jesus, woman. You and I need to be at the top of our game. If this debate hasn’t underscored just how dicey this campaign is going to be, then you aren’t half as smart or as competent as I think you are.”
Holding up his hand he cut off her objection. Focusing his narrowed gaze on her, he added.
“But this isn’t about being smart, is it, Diamond? Or about how to gather information. No, sweetheart, this is about you and me.”
Deciding that he wanted to put her on edge he added with a dismissive grin, “But then, I keep forgetting that my supposedly accomplished partner resorts to childish antics when challenged. Tell me, is it asking too much, Diamond, that you respond to one of my requests like an adult rather than a snappish child?”
At her gasp and quick flush, Ian grinned at her. Putting his finger against her lips to keep her from speaking, he warned, “Soon, Diamond, damned soon, you and I are going to get to the bottom of what has put that massive tree trunk up your ass.” He added as he moved away, his eyes flashing dangerously, “At that point, my prickly partner, you can assume that perky ass of yours is grass.”
Looking back over his shoulder, Ian was gratified to see Diamond staring after him in consternation. She damn well better look concerned. He was going to get to the bottom of her smoldering anger if he had to spank it out of her. He snorted a satisfied grunt. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea. She thought he treated her like a child? Well, she could damn well stop acting like one, and he wouldn’t have to.
Chapter 11
Ian gathered his composure as he crossed the room to where Rudy Kramer was talking to a group of Brunson supporters. From the angry expressions on their collective faces, the Brunson team was not happy with the debate. Catching Kramer’s eye, Ian said, “Can I talk to you for a moment, Rudy?”
The big Irishman with his gut hanging over his belt pasted a disingenuous smile on his ruddy face and shrugged. Holding out a meaty palm, he clasped Ian’s hand, and then in the tried and true political hack move put his free arm around Ian’s shoulder. He dragged him in closer, and squeezed his shoulder as if they were best friends—not committed rivals.
“But, of course, Mr. Ross. How could I refuse one of the wealthiest political contributors in the country, even though you’ve never chosen to support one of my candidates?” Making an effort at congeniality, he added, “What can I do for you, Ian, other than accept your apology for working with one of the true sons of bitches that has ever run for the United States Senate?”
“I presume you are referring to Senator John Walker who has served honorably in the United States Senate for eighteen years and is on the path to a fourth six-year term?”
Kramer guffawed and winked at the group of men surrounding him. Their sycophantic grins lit up when the campaign manager poked at Ian.
“Don’t be so sure of that, Mr. Ross. You obviously haven’t seen the latest polls.”
Ian smiled pleasantly. “Depends. Are you referring to the ones that have the Senator beating your candidate by 30 points? Or the ones that have him ahead by 38 points?”
At the Irishman’s dismissive grunt as if that lead was easily surmountable, Ian continued.
“This is the first time I’ve seen Congressman Brunson in action.” He shook his head and gave the swarthy pol a puzzled frown.
“I don’t know, Rudy. Given that you cut your political teeth in the hotbed of New York City politics, Hell’s Kitchen, no less, I have to wonder how a good Catholic boy ended up working for a Bible-thumping Dixiecrat like Deacon Brunson. Don’t tell me I can no longer catch you at the Dubliner sipping Bushmills Millennium neat out of a Glencairn glass.”
Glancing at Kramer’s impressive girth, he added with an appreciative smile, “Or more likely quaffing several imperial pints of Guinness.”
The splotches on the campaign manager’s cheeks flared threatening to match his flaming hair. For a moment the flustered man looked as if he would contest Ian’s description of his metamorphosis from a hard-drinking street pol to a tee totaling Bible Belter. Instead he simply shrugged as if Ian’s implied insults weren’t worth responding to.
Not content to let him slide, Ian pressed.
“Seriously, Rudy, I never pegged you for self-righteous. Somehow the picture doesn’t quite fit the frame.”
Making a visible effort to smooth his expression, Rudy couldn’t keep his scorn leashed.
“Sometimes self-righteousness ain’t all bad, Ian. C’mon, buddy, you gotta admit that your guy has been slipping the bounds of propriety for some time now. But even Senators with wealthy supporters up the ass can’t expect to sow their wild oats without anyone noticing. As for being self-righteous, there’s something damn nice about not having to spend the majority of your campaign cleaning up the shit your guy has spewed out of his ass. Admit it, Ian. I don’t know how much bank you flung Walker’s way, but you gotta know it’s gonna take a whole lot G’s to shovel up the shit your boy is leavin’ in his tracks.”
The blustering man brushed his hand through his thinning coppery hair and tossed Ian a supposedly sympathetic smile but didn’t bother to cover his underlying smirk.
“No man, I’ll admit I’ve learned more about the Bible in this campaign than any good Roman Catholic boy would ever wanna to know. But it’s a fuckin’ nice change to have to explain why my guy just likes to talk about sin rather than imbibing. And best of all, it’s damn nice not to spend your nights at the pub worrying which gossip reporter is gonna spill the shit you know is coming your way.”
Ian stepped away and motioned for Kramer to follow him. When they were out of earshot of the rest of Brunson’s team, Ian positioned himself so that none of the others could see how their boss was reacting to him.
Gazing at the smirking
man through narrowed eyes, Ian said softly, “That’s interesting, Rudy. It appears as though you and your supposedly upstanding candidate know a lot more about other people’s supposed sins than I do. To that point, while I have heard more citations today from the Holy Bible than I have in months, I would be remiss not to ask you about Matthew’s mote/beam caution. You know, the one that says: First cast the beam out of thine own eye; and then shalt thou see clearly to cast out the mote out of thy brother’s eye.”
Kramer literally chortled. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you, buddy. For once, in comparison to our opponent, my candidate looks as pure as the driven snow. Yeah, he quotes the Bible. Which even I’ll admit is annoying as hell. But you gotta know, Ian. Your candidate is making it damn easy for my guy to play the self-righteous, ‘I’m an appalled Christian man of God’ role—which you may have noticed Deacon has down to a fucking science.
“Look, Ian, I’m gonna be honest. I’m gonna tell you something you may not know. Your guy is digging a grave for himself that even you aren’t going to be able to pull him out of. Does that fact excite me? Fuckin’ A, yeah it does. Hell, it’s got my prick so hard I could pound nails with it.”
He shrugged. “I’ll admit, Ian. I’m hardly known for having squeaky clean clients. Fuck it, that’s politics—if you don’t wanna get muddy, don’t wrestle the pig. Usually, I’m the guy who is quaking in his boots not knowing what my asshole client is gonna do next and how I’m gonna clean up his shit. But, hell, buddy, that is not what is happening now. This is the first campaign I’ve ever run where I can hardly wait for the paper to hit the step in the morning. You know why? Because sure as my grandmother Mary Rose Fleming was a virgin when she died, I know that someday soon the shit on our opponent is truly going to hit the fan. And, buddy? When it does? The explosion is gonna change this fuckin’ town for good. ”
Ian frowned at the gloating Irishman and decided to confront him. Pulling his cell phone from his belt holster, he flicked it open to his emails.
Handing the phone to Kramer, he said, “You wouldn’t happen to be laying the groundwork for that explosion, would you, Rudy?”
He added, “I don’t know if you are responsible for these e-mails, but I can tell you, they say more about the sender than about the target, who happens to be my candidate. Not to put too fine a point on it, attacking your opponent for his sins is dangerous enough, but threatening to kill him for those supposed sins is a crime.”
Ian studied Kramer as the startled man scrolled through the e-mails. What started out as disinterest on the guy’s face morphed quickly. His eyes widened and Ian saw the sweat starting to bead on Kramer’s upper lip. His frown deepened and his murmured expletives became more frequent and explicit. By the time he’d finished, Kramer’s usually ruddy face had a gray cast. He was silent for a long moment, then ran his finger under the collar of his shirt, tugging on it, as if he needed more space to grab a full breath of air.
After he’d sucked in an audible breath and then another, Kramer closed the phone and handed it back to Ian. His trademark expletive laden amusement was noticeably absent when he finally spoke.
“You gotta know, Ian. Taking down the opposition as hard and as viciously as I can is why I haul my bloated ass out of bed in the morning. Hell, dirty campaigning puts hair on my chest. By the end of a campaign, I could compete with King Kong for hirsute records. Getting dirt on our opponent? Doing everything I can to make sure it comes out in the single most compromising way possible? That’s the game, and I like to win. Christ, my dick swells with the thought alone.”
Kramer gestured to Ian’s cell phone and shook his head vigorously causing the wattles on his multiple chins to swing from side to side.
“But this? Hell, no! Christ, buddy, that shit’s got my balls tucked up so tight against my asshole, I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able dig them out.”
Ian shrugged. “I want to believe you, Rudy. It’s definitely not your style. At least not the savvy New York pol that I thought I knew. But man, you know as well as I do, even if you aren’t personally responsible, you have to admit the over the top damnation language comes awfully close to a lot of the crap your candidate was slinging today.”
Ian waited for a moment studying the frowning man then said quietly, “We both know, Rudy, it’s one thing to attack your opponent’s record. That is politics at its best. That is what we promise the voters we will do. We say we’ll extoll our record and all we have done or plan to do for the voters and that we’ll treat our opponents courteously and respectfully.”
At Rudy loud dismissive snort, Ian nodded in agreement.
“If only our campaigns fought over records and ideas. Unfortunately they don’t.”
Ian narrowed his eyes and held Kramer’s smirking gaze not letting him look away.
“No, we both know a political campaign based on ideas and respect for our opponent’s positions is an oxymoron. We also know that it is iffy at best to attack your opponent’s morals. Indeed, it takes a gutsy guy—or a stupid one, blinded by self-righteousness, to call his political opponent a sinner. You and I both know that particular tactic never fails to come back and bite the sender in his supposedly sparkling clean ass.”
Ian paused, then put up his hands and shook his head as if in dismay.
“But Rudy, Rudy, it is suicide, plain and simple, to threaten to kill your opponent for his sins. You and I both know that level of vitriol will not be tolerated and can only come back to haunt the sender.”
Kramer tugged at the strands of sparse hair decorating his crown and shook his head, the sweat on his lips now migrating to his underarms in odiferous waves.
“Christ, Ian. Jesus, buddy. You and I agree! It would be suicide for our campaign to send out crap like this. You also know me well enough to know that suicide ain’t my game. And, buddy? Murder sure as hell ain’t.”
Ian nodded. “I agree, Rudy. You are as dirty a political street fighter as I’ve known. Like the rest of the lowlifes you hang out with, there’s not a lot of tactics you avoid. But you also are a self-preservationist. No, Rudy, I concur. Professional suicide isn’t your game.”
Studying the clearly agitated man in front of him, Ian rubbed his finger across his bottom lip then tugged thoughtfully on his chin as if considering a conundrum.
“However, the question remains. While you may not be suicidal, is your client?”
At Kramer’s startled gasp, Ian continued, tapping the phone on his belt.
“If he is and this crap is coming from him? Suicide may be Deacon Brunson’s single best option.”
Seeing Kramer struggling with the possibility of his boss’s involvement, Ian let his words settle then casually upped the ante.
“I know you’re aware that Noah Walker, the Senator’s son, is a former Delta Force operative. I worked with Noah in three of the toughest warzones known to man. Noah is one of the most charming, easy going guys I know.”
Ian allowed a sardonic smile to kick up his lips. “He’s a lot like me in that way. We are as cool and welcome as an ice floe in hell—unless some asshole threatens principles we hold dear, or, god forbid, threatens someone we love.”
Rudy’s frown deepened turning the creases on his damp forehead to formidable ridges. He said with a glowering snarl, “Are you threatening my client, Ian?”
Ian shrugged and replied with his customary élan.
“If he’s guilty? Yeah, Rudy, I am.”
Ian added, his smile widening dangerously.
“Oh, and, buddy, I’m also threatening you.”
Chapter 12
Diamond managed to quell the righteous fury that was making it difficult to keep her shaking legs from buckling. That was all she’d need to confirm Ian’s negative view of her. Hell, why not? She could let go and land on her ass in a heap. Maybe she should lie on her back and pound her hands and feet on the floor all the while shrieking loudly. Yes, she decided. That was precisely what she should do. Throw a first class temper tantrum and c
onfirm for all the world to see that Ian’s dismissive image of her was one hundred percent on target.
Instead, Diamond dragged her gaze away from his tight, muscular ass as Ian sauntered across the room without so much as a backward glance. She waited until her nemesis had the attention of Deacon Brunson’s team and was actively involved in conversation with Brunson’s campaign manager. When she was certain that Ian was no longer paying attention to her, she forced herself to cross the room to where Peter Kennedy was standing.
As she approached the slight man, Diamond was struck by his concerned expression. Unquestionably, the debate had been rancorous and definitely hadn’t shown either candidate at his best. The fact that three quarters of the audience was pushing and shoving trying to get close to the commanding black man holding court in the center confirmed that to his supporters Senator Walker was definitely the victor. But the troubled expression on Peter Kennedy’s face confirmed that while his fans may be exultant, the Senator’s campaign manager didn’t share their excitement.
Diamond eased up close to Peter and said softly, “Do they always mob him like this?”
Peter startled and moved back. Recognizing Diamond, he smiled and said almost wistfully, “Ah yes, they do. No matter what he says or does that has me quaking in my tasseled loafers, the crowd loves him.” He added with a soft snort, “In fact, the more outrageous, the more provocative that he is, the more they love him.”
Peter sighed and regarded his client much the way a besotted mother would her beloved but most perplexing child.