“Are you sure you want to take this meeting, sir?” Eric Olson asked without preamble as he strode through the double doors and into the governor’s office. He carried a sheaf of papers against his chest and his tie was loosened beneath his collar.
Massachusetts Governor Brian Milton looked up from the document he was reading, making no effort to hide his annoyance at being interrupted. “What?”
“Are you sure you want to do this, sir?” Olson asked, his body bent forward at the waist.
“Do what?” Milton pressed, his eyes narrowing.
“Meet with this guy. This Paul Hardy.”
Milton leaned back in his chair, keeping his face neutral, staring up at Olson. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Why would you?? You were elected to this position by being no-nonsense against crime. If it got out that you’re consorting with his type, think of the damage it could do.”
Milton allowed his gaze to pass from impassive to malevolent to condescending.
“Paul Hardy and I have been friends since I was a lowly state representative from the South Shore,” Milton said, his tone reflecting the look on his face. “He has never been linked to organized crime in any way, his dealings have been searched and researched, and he’s always come out clean.”
As Milton spoke, Olson seemed to wilt before him. Sensing his target’s weakness, he leaned forward in his chair, ready to drive home his point.
“Paul Hardy is a hell of a businessman that has done a great deal for this community, this state, and this office. If he requests fifteen minutes of my time I’m going to give it to him, regardless what some boy two months out of Dartmouth seems to think.”
The verbal castration complete, Milton dismissed Olson with the flick of his hand, leaning back in his chair and taking the document up from the desk.
“And another thing,” he called, Olson slowing without turning to look back at him. “It’s not your place to question who I meet with, understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Olson mumbled, his voice barely audible. He paused long enough to make sure Milton was done before opening the door to exit, coming face-to-face with Hardy on the other side. At the sight of him, his jaw dropped open and color bled from his face, his mouth working up and down, trying to place the right words. “Um, Governor Milton, will see you now.”
He kept his gaze turned down and kept the stack of papers clutched tight against his chest, turning his body to the side and standing rigid in the doorway.
Hardy ignored Olson entirely as he stepped past him into the office. A large grin grew across his face as he kicked the door shut behind him and settled into the leather chair opposite the governor’s desk.
“Damn fine performance,” he said in greeting, the smile still in place as he crossed his legs and settled back in the chair.
Milton remained seated, a matching grin on his own features. “God, that never gets old.”
“And the good thing for guys like us is, the years may pass but there’s always going to be little shits like him that need put in their place.”
“Best part is he’s the son of an old acquaintance I never really cared for. Now I get to bawl the kid out and accumulate favors at the same time. Almost isn’t fair.”
Hardy gave a deep booming laugh, coupling it with a wistful shake of his head. “No, it really isn’t.”
Milton let the moment linger before shaking the smile from his face. “So, what can I do for you, Paul?”
Lacing his fingers atop his knee, Hardy began, “I think we both know that some of my business dealings are not with what would be called the cream of the social crop.”
Milton nodded in understanding. He had long since operated under that assumption, having heard as much from many trusted sources. As he’d just told Olson though, Hardy had always supported him, and he had therefore tried to do the same.
Still, it was an interesting place for the conversation to begin.
“That being said, allow me to approach this from another angle,” Hardy said. “As I’m sure you well know, a great deal of my business is derived from the Dorchester docks.”
“You’re a shipping mogul, it makes sense.”
“Of course,” Hardy said, raising his eyebrows in agreement, “though what you may not know is that I’ve been able to gain such unfettered access to those docks by working with the people controlling them.”
Milton pursed his lips and mulled the info, nodding. “Makes sense. They’re too proud to let you freely operate in their backyard and you’re too shrewd to even try.”
“Without going into too much detail, suffice it to say this is quite a lucrative arrangement for all parties involved.”
Milton had a pretty good idea who was involved, but decided not to ask. If his assumption was right, such an arrangement controlled a decent percentage of the city and, in turn, the state.
At the moment, none of active players were enemies, which was a good thing for everybody, him as governor included.
“For several years now we have enjoyed healthy interaction and even healthier bottom lines,” Hardy continued, pausing for Milton’s reaction.
“And something is now threatening both?” Milton prompted.
“Yes and no,” Hardy said, giving a non-committal shake of his head. “The bottom lines for all have been hit, though for the moment our pact is intact. Right now no one is pointing any fingers. Needless to say though, it would benefit everyone if this was solved sooner rather than later.”
Milton nodded, processing the information he had been given. The sudden dump of it was quite unusual compared to his previous dealings with Hardy, though from the sound of things the situation was a bit unique, even for him.
“I’m sure you realize that right now I have a great many questions that out of respect I am refraining from asking?”
“It is realized and appreciated,” Hardy replied.
“So then let me ask just one. How do I, or rather this office, fit in?”
Hardy weighed the question for a moment. “It is my understanding that men in your position have people, investigators, things of that nature, at your disposal.”
Unsure if it was a statement or a question, the words caught Milton by surprise. “With all due respect, I would think the same of men in your position.”
Hardy smirked, his upper body rocking back an inch. “You assume correctly, though such people come with strings, strings that could ultimately connect them back to me.”
For the first time some clarity began to settle in for Milton. He was here being asked a favor from one of the more powerful people in the state, a man with untold influence and extremely deep pockets.
Hardy sat in silence, waiting for Milton, not bothering to further verbalize his request.
As far as Milton could tell, there was little downside to offering assistance. While some enterprising reporter might catch wind of the meeting and decide to let his imagination run wild, the hit in the press at this point in his term would be negligible.
On the flip side, owning a marker from Paul Hardy could be a game changer should he ever need it in the future.
Holding his gaze on the wall above his guest, Milton went through the charade of debating the request a moment before shifting his attention down to his desk. Sliding open the top drawer, he pulled a gold key from it before rotating his chair in a half-circle.
Leaning down to the bottom of the credenza behind him, he inserted the key, a small click sounding out as the door opened. Extracting an aging Rolodex from within, he flipped through the dense stack of contacts until he found what he was looking for and removed it.
A card he prayed he never needed to use himself.
Replacing the Rolodex, Milton spun back to face forward and extended the card across the desk, holding it between his index and middle fingers. Reaching forward, Hardy accepted it as Milton returned the key to his desk drawer.
“The Company,” Hardy read aloud. “Plain white business card, one phone number, no address.”
He fell silent, letting his raised eyebrows ask the question he was thinking for him.
“Don’t let the card fool you,” Milton replied, raising his right ankle to rest on his left knee. “They have ample resources, they just prefer to keep a low profile. One of those ‘You have to be brought in by somebody in the know’ type of things.”
“And you’re in the know?” Hardy asked, arching an eyebrow.
“Last term, outgoing Governor Travalli used them. It was official business, so the reference stayed with the office, not him personally.”
“Will I be able to use your name if they ask how I came to have their number?”
Milton nodded in the affirmative without saying as much. “Also, the name on that card is no longer with them. The man you’re looking for now is Bryce Stepoli, handles all requests personally.”
Accepting the information, Hardy examined the card one last time before tapping it against the opposite palm. In one quick movement he stood, thrusting a hand across the desk.
“Thank you, I appreciate it.”
Milton stood and returned the handshake. “Good luck. I hope they can help.”
Chapter Twelve
Liberation Day - A Thorn Byrd Novel Page 13
