by Andrew Grant
“How’s that working out?” Donny started on his own beer with much more enthusiasm. “Got anything going?”
“There’s a couple of irons in the fire. I’m optimistic.” Carrick didn’t want to deliberately mislead anyone, but sharing wasn’t part of his plan. “You?”
Donny shrugged. “Things are getting back to normal, I guess. It’s better than being in the joint. But I’ve got to tell you, the place went downhill fast when I was away. None of the old crew is still around. I’ve got to start again, train up the kids. And man, talk about scraping the barrel. You saw those cretins out on the street. That’s the level I’m dealing with. It’s depressing.”
“You need to work with good people. That’s true.” Carrick took a larger swig. He figured he needed to finish his glass before he could safely get away. “No one can argue with that.”
“That’s why I was so happy to see you.” Donny reached across the table and slammed his fist into Carrick’s shoulder. “Old times’ sake aside, I like you, Georgey. You’re a good man. A safe pair of hands. And you know what? I have a couple of things going on that are right down your street. Your business was protection, right? So you could help me out. School these stupid kids. Free me up for other things.”
Carrick took another sip of beer, but this time as cover so he could scan the room. Although, even as he was doing that, he was asking himself why. There could be no one between him and the door, or an army of a hundred. Either way, he wasn’t escaping the table if Donny didn’t want him to. He knew the ice beneath his feet was thin, and he could feel the cracks beginning to form. “I appreciate the offer. Really. But here’s the problem. I’m not as strong as you, Donny. I only just survived the last stretch. I can’t risk going back again. I just can’t.”
Donny downed his second whiskey and Carrick saw that the regular, dangerous sneer was returning to his face.
“But I do like the idea of working together.” Carrick nodded with as much sincerity as he could muster. “And I have an idea. That building you saw me leave? Pretty soon, some tenants are going to be vacating their units. It’s going to be in their best interests. Only some of them don’t know it yet. They need someone to explain it to them. You mentioned schooling people. Do you think that’s the kind of lesson you could teach?”
“Is there money in it?”
“Oh, yes.” Carrick smiled. “Plenty.”
“Then I’m in.” Donny crashed his empty glass onto the table. “But I have one more question. These people. Any of them black? Or Mexican?”
“Some of them.” Carrick hesitated. “Why?”
“Because them I’ll teach for free.”
III
TWENTY-FIVE YEARS AGO
GUBERNATORIAL. Was it inappropriate to think that was a stupid word, even after you’ve started your run for the governor’s mansion? Pete Aldis closed his hotel room door and burst into a fit of giggles. But it wasn’t just the word that was tickling him. It was the reality of the whole situation. He was running for governor. How crazy was that?
Aldis crossed to the window and looked out over the parking lot. It was still three-quarters full. Most of the people who owned those cars had come to see him. To hear him. To listen to his ideas. So actually, scratch that. It wasn’t crazy at all. Just because he hadn’t known his ultimate destination when he’d started his journey, that didn’t devalue his reason to continue. He’d started because of what he believed in. Education. Opportunity. Law. Order. Access to decent health care. And others believed in him. Only a couple, to begin with. His wife, Paula, who’d encouraged him to speak up at a local town hall meeting. Looking back, that was the starting point. And then his brother, Dave, had gotten on board, happily shouldering the extra load of running the family business while Pete was away campaigning. Soon the activists in his local party added their support, as they grew sick of the old order’s empty rhetoric. The audiences at rallies grew larger, and the applause louder. And now, that day, he truly believed in himself. Not because of the reception at the two speeches he’d just given, gratifying as that had been. But because of his rival for the nomination, Eddie Colman. They’d had a deal—a gentleman’s agreement—not to politicize the recent murder of a twelve-year-old schoolgirl, allegedly by an undocumented immigrant. Colman had waited until Aldis had come offstage after his second speech, then released a statement. A very inflammatory statement, pandering to their party’s most vocal extremists. When he heard about it, Aldis was furious. But the feeling didn’t last long. It was soon replaced by a surge of confidence, because it had caused his late father’s voice to sound in his head. Once again he heard the words his father had hammered home from his earliest days of playing sports: Son, they only foul you if they’re afraid of you.
Aldis ordered steak from room service. He asked for it to be cooked so rare that if a vet was in the hotel, it could be brought back to life. Then he called his wife while he waited for his dinner to be delivered. Paula was in the early stages of her second pregnancy and couldn’t travel because of the morning sickness. Pete didn’t like being apart from her, but supposed he had better get used to it. Unless that was counting chickens. He didn’t want to invite bad luck.
When the food came, the meat was woefully overcooked, but Aldis ate it anyway. He would have liked to wash it down with a glass or two of red wine, but had been warned by his campaign manager: Appearance is everything. Don’t allow any photographs to appear of empties on a trolley outside your room. So he made do with a Coke. Took a shower. And was getting ready for an early night when he heard a knock on his door.
“Who is it?” Aldis looked through the peephole and saw a guy in his mid-thirties wearing a black suit and a tie with the hotel logo on it. He was carrying a wooden clipboard.
“Mr. Aldis?” The guy looked at the clipboard as if double-checking the room number. “My name’s John Berry. I’m the hotel’s celebrity liaison manager. This is just a routine call. We want to make sure everything’s going great with your stay with us.”
“I’m hardly a celebrity, Mr. Berry. Are you sure you’ve picked the right guest?”
“You’re running for governor, aren’t you?” Berry smiled. “That’s celebrity enough for me. And I’ve got to tell you. Calling on you makes a nice change from the idiots I usually have to deal with. Pop singers. Movie stars. Sports people. Those guys are all assholes. If you’ll excuse my French.”
“Consider it excused.”
“Thank you.” Berry paused for a moment. “So, Mr. Aldis, would it be OK if I come in rather than talk to you through the door?”
This was awkward. Aldis was tired and didn’t want to deal with some hotel PR bullshit, but he didn’t want to become known as a prima donna, either. His campaign manager had warned him: Bad reputations start easy and spread fast. “Sure.” Aldis sighed quietly to himself. “Give me a moment to throw on some clothes. I just jumped out of the shower, so I only have on one of your fluffy robes.”
“Don’t put yourself out, Mr. Aldis, please. This will only take a minute or two. I just have a short questionnaire to run through to get your valued feedback, then I’ll need a quick signature and I’ll be out of your hair. And believe me, after some of the things I’ve seen around here, one of our robes counts as Sunday best.”
Aldis didn’t like the idea of letting a stranger into his room when he wasn’t properly dressed, but he didn’t want to appear precious, either. For a second he thought of calling his campaign manager for advice. Then he looked through the peephole again, peering as far up and down the corridor as the fish-eye lens would allow. He could just see the one guy. It wasn’t like there was a bunch of paparazzi lurking around, so he decided to get the encounter over with. He opened the door, Berry stepped into the room, and from out of nowhere a woman followed him inside. She looked to be in her early twenties with coils of bottle-blond hair piled up on top of her head and lots of makeup o
n her face. She was also wearing a black suit, only hers was much shorter and a great deal tighter.
“Who’s this?” Aldis tried to keep the surprise out of his voice.
“Her name’s Ms. Pritchard.” Berry gestured with his free hand as if presenting a loyal subject to an ancient monarch. “She’s my new assistant. She’s still learning the ropes. Is it OK if she sits in? We won’t be here long.”
Aldis and Berry took the low armchairs either side of the coffee table near the window, and Pritchard turned the desk chair around to make an elongated triangle.
“OK.” Berry waited for his colleague to settle. “Let’s get the ball rolling. On a scale of one to ten, with ten being the best, how would you rate the privacy of your check-in experience?”
Aldis didn’t really understand the question, but he had no desire to drag the process out by asking for clarification. “Eight.”
“Hmm.” Berry’s face clouded over a little as he ticked a box on his clipboard. “A little lower than I’d hoped, but it’s important we know where to focus our efforts to improve, I guess. Now, next up, using the same scale, how would you rate the discretion of our bell staff?”
“Ten.”
“OK.” Berry put his pencil to work. “Thank you. And how—”
“I’m sorry to interrupt.” Pritchard was fidgeting awkwardly in her chair. “This is so embarrassing, but I really need to use the bathroom. Do you mind?”
She was up and halfway across the room before Aldis had managed to answer.
“And how—” This time Berry was interrupted by the room phone.
Aldis answered the call, listened for a moment, then gestured for Berry to take the handset. “It’s Reception. For you.”
Berry listened for ten seconds before replying to the caller. “Really? No. This is a very bad time. I’m with Mr. Aldis. He’s a very important guest. Can’t someone else handle it?”
There was a shorter pause before Berry spoke again. “Well, I guess I’ll have to. If there really isn’t anyone else. But I’m not happy about it. Tell security I’ll be there in two minutes.”
Berry hung up and started moving toward the door. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Aldis. There’s a problem with some of our other guests. A rock band, from England. They’re in the presidential suite and there are reports of a small fire, and something about dead rodents. The police are already on their way, so I need to get up there and contain the damage. I’ll be back soon as I can. If it gets too late, put the Do Not Disturb sign out and I’ll catch up with you tomorrow.”
“Hold on.” Aldis put his hands on his hips. “What about your assistant? Miss Pritchard?”
“The woman’s a pain in my ass.” Berry reached the door and pulled it open. “She spends half her life in the bathroom. I don’t have time to wait for her. Tell her to come upstairs as soon as she’s done, would you?”
Berry stepped into the corridor and let the door slam behind him. Aldis tightened his robe. He thought about calling his campaign manager again. Then the bathroom door opened. Ms. Pritchard appeared. Her hair was down. Her suit was gone. She was just wearing black stockings, a lacy black and silver garter belt, panties, and bra. The garments were tiny. Especially the bra. She leaned back against the doorframe and raised her arms above her head, and Aldis couldn’t help wondering how much longer the flimsy material could hold out.
“Oh no.” Aldis held up his hands, palms out. “Stop that. Go back inside. Put your clothes back on. Nothing like that’s going to happen here.”
Pritchard levered herself away from the doorframe and started walking slowly toward him. Her hips were swinging. Her breasts were swaying. And she had a smile on her face that said she didn’t believe him. “Come on, darling, don’t be like that. It’s just you and me now. Let’s have some fun while we’re alone. No one will ever know…”
“Put your clothes back on. I mean it.” Aldis turned back to the table and reached for the room phone. “I’m calling security.”
“You’re new to this, aren’t you?” Pritchard moved closer. “You need to loosen up. The campaign trail’s a stressful place. You need to unwind. All politicians do it, you know.”
Aldis picked up the handset. There was no dial tone. He rattled the cradle and tried again. The line was still dead. He turned instead to the desk, where his briefcase was lying open. Pritchard was already there, standing in front of it. As Aldis watched, she reached behind her back and unhooked her bra. She shrugged it off her shoulders. Dropped it into the briefcase. And scooped up the cellphone that had been plugged into its charger.
“Is this what you’re looking for?” She winked at him. “Come and get it.” Then she slid the phone down the front of her panties.
Aldis took one step forward, then stopped. He couldn’t take the phone away from her. Not now. Not without touching her in some compromising way. His only play was to cut and run. So he turned toward the door, but she quickly moved across to block his path. She stepped toward him. He moved back, toward the bed. She took one more step, then slipped the phone out of her underwear.
“I didn’t know you’d be so shy.” Pritchard pouted. “I thought that would be a fun game, but I guess I was wrong. So let’s try this instead.” She held up the phone for a moment and then threw it past him, onto the bed.
Aldis turned and dived after the phone, but Pritchard was already moving and she landed first, winding up on her back underneath him. He tried to roll away but she wrapped her legs around him and held on tight. He struggled harder. She let go and he flipped onto his back. She rolled after him. Got on top. Straightened up. Shuffled forward until her knees were pinning his forearms. Reached down and tore off her panties. Pushed her crotch down into his face. Then she raised her arms above her head, closed her eyes, and writhed around as if in absolute ecstasy.
For a moment Aldis was too shocked to move, then he wriggled free and shoved Pritchard so hard in the chest that she flew off him and landed on the floor to the side of the bed. She got straight up and ran to the bathroom. He sat and straightened his robe, which had come undone in the struggle. Two minutes later Pritchard reemerged, back in her suit. Aldis registered the thought that she must have nothing on underneath it. Then he shook the image from his head. Walked to the door. Opened it, and stood to one side.
“I’ll be talking to Mr. Berry about this incident, when he comes back for his clipboard.”
“If you must.” Pritchard paused in the doorway. “In the meantime, goodbye, darling. No hard feelings?” She reached out to Aldis’s crotch and squeezed. “Oh. I was wrong about that, too!” Then she stepped out into corridor, headed for the elevators, and didn’t look back.
Aldis crossed to the bed, flopped down, and covered his face with his hands. He could smell Pritchard’s perfume on his skin. It wasn’t altogether unpleasant. Nor was the next thought that crossed his mind: Eddie Colman must be absolutely terrified, to be trying to foul him at this extreme level…
* * *
—
Forty-five minutes later Aldis heard another knock at his door. He was expecting Berry, back to apologize. To limit some more damage. But when he looked through the peephole he saw a man he didn’t recognize. This guy was older. He’d be in his late thirties, minimum. Possibly his early forties. His dark hair was neatly combed, and his suit was an amazingly bright shade of azure. Either he was required to wear it as some kind of uniform—like if he was the hotel manager, maybe—or he was out to deliberately attract attention.
No longer caring about his robe, Aldis opened the door.
“Good evening.” The guy held out his hand. “My name’s Rigel Walcott. I’m here to help. Is it OK if I come in?”
“Help with what?”
“Your career. I’m a political consultant.”
“I don’t need a consultant. My campaign manager handles my political career, and I’m very hap
py with the job he’s doing.”
“Well, consulting’s not all I do. I’m also a speechwriter. And I thought you might need a hand drafting your announcement.”
“What announcement?”
“That you’re withdrawing from the race for governor.”
Aldis laughed. “I’m not withdrawing. I’m winning.”
“Maybe you were.” Walcott nodded thoughtfully. “But in politics, the winds of fortune can change direction very fast. And if you don’t react quickly enough, you can very easily sink.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Well, they say a picture’s worth a thousand words.” Walcott took a six-by-four photograph from his jacket pocket—still tacky from the developers—and handed it to Aldis. It showed him on the bed, his robe gaping open, grappling with a semi-naked Ms. Pritchard.
Aldis felt his stomach slowly fill with lead. “How did you get this?”
“How do you think?” Walcott shook his head. “This is what you get for hiring an idiot for a campaign manager, instead of someone like me. I’d never let a client of mine accept the first hotel suite he’s offered. Anyway, this picture’s just to give you an impression. I have guys working on lots of others. Enlarging. Cropping. You get the idea. Some will be perfect for the newspapers. Others—the more R-rated ones—I’m saving for your wife. I hear she’s expecting, by the way. Pregnant women can be very emotional, can’t they? How do you think she’ll react when she finds out what you get up to when her back’s turned?”
Aldis crumpled the picture into a jagged ball and reached around with his other hand to grab the back of Walcott’s neck. “Open your mouth. I’m going to stick this down your throat till you choke.”
“You could do that, I’m sure.” Walcott made no attempt to free himself. “You seem very…beefy. As the pictures show. But if you do that, you won’t solve your immediate problem. Which is, tomorrow’s paper is going to carry one of two things. Your photo, or your withdrawal from the race. And in addition, if you assault me you’ll go to jail. In which case you’ll no doubt wind up with other body parts getting shoved in your face. And it’s unlikely you’ll find them as attractive as these.” Walcott pulled out another picture. This one showed Pritchard straddling Aldis. “How did my colleague taste, by the way? She’s new to the team and I haven’t had the pleasure yet.”