In response to my quizzical look, Tiffany explained that they were at least two other congressional chain-smokers who had been causing the same problems all day by setting off smoke alarms. The handymen would be busy all night.
“Don’t start any forest fires,” I jokingly warned Chesterfield.
He chuckled. “Your security recommendations have made it possible for me to engage in my nasty habit with impunity in the comfort and safety of my room, Shepherd. I am indebted to you,” he said.
“Well, that was not our reason,” I smiled. “I’m just trying to keep you alive, sir.”
“A noble cause and I thank you.”
“You’re welcome, sir. Please keep those drapes closed, okay?”
“I will. That would allow me to parade around naked as well.”
“A bonus, sir.”
“Just kidding. I have some informal meetings tonight and a few ideas on how to make former Governor Dodge go so loco she’ll shove her head up her twat and yodel ‘Dixie.’ I think I’ll do all of the meetings here, not downstairs, now that the room has been made safe.”
“Whatever you like, Mr. Speaker,” Tiffany said. “Security will like that. They can just guard the elevator and stairs and the hallway. I’ll inform everyone to come here, instead,” she said, her thumbs flying over her iPhone. “Will you need me for those meetings now?”
“Nope. Unless you like Bob pinching your butt when he gets loaded?”
“No thank you, I’ll speak to you later. Call if you need me.”
“Sure,” Chesterfield waved his cigarette. “You two run along.”
25
Tiffany went into robot mode for a few minutes at her desk in her suite, as I watched. She made calls, texts, emails. Food arrived at nine. Two steak dinners. She poured more cold arak for us and headed for the door.
“Please wait here. I’ve got to deal with a minor issue. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Please don’t let your food get cold.”
I ate my steak and mashed potatoes in half an hour, washed down with some more arak. Mary Catherine called me back.
“Shepherd,” Mary Catherine groaned. “I was hoping you had lost my number.”
“Sorry, I need some help.”
“Don’t say any more. I’ll meet you in the morning. You know where.”
She hung up. I dialed Jane. I wanted to tell her it was my birthday. I could hear barking.
“Hi, Jane.”
“Hi, Shepherd. I’m really busy tonight. I’ve got two emergencies and the Catmobile is out on calls.”
“You okay?”
“We have to talk,” she said. “I think… I think it might not be a bad idea if we… slowed things down for a while.”
“What? Okay… What does that mean?”
“I… I’m not sure. A break for a few days, maybe. I can’t talk right now. You’re going to be at Amy’s tonight? Can we talk tomorrow? I have to go.”
“Okay, Jane. Wait, I…”
She was gone. Damn. That was the last thing I wanted to hear. I was confused, hurt, pissed off. I reached for my arak. Jane was not the first girlfriend to break up with me by phone or text. It was a tradition. I was with Jane a month and that wasn’t even close to the record for short romances. I thought we were different.
Tiffany breezed back in a few minutes later, smelling of cigars and whiskey.
“Sorry it took so long. The head of security had to be stroked but Karl agreed, no more clear windows, no more open air events,” she said, triumphantly.
“Good. Okay, thanks for dinner. I’ll take off and get back to work.”
“No way. We have a lot to arrange. If the Speaker agrees with you and we have to ban the guns, we have to figure a way to have someone else do it, so my boss’s fingerprints aren’t on it. Just hold on while I change. Be right back,” she said, pulling her hair loose so it fell over her shoulders. She left the room and closed the bedroom door. I heard a shower running.
I called Amy and told her that some of our suggestions had already been acted upon but Chesterfield was sleeping on the gun ban request and we were trying to come up with a political cover plan. I also told her about my meeting with Mary Catherine in the morning. Amy told me she was on another line and would see me later.
What was Tiffany doing behind that closed door? Was she hitting on me or was I a male egomaniac? The worst thing I could do now was drink more. I poured another arak and tossed it down easy. Buzzed, I took out my phone.
“What can I help you with, Shepherd?” Siri asked.
“Siri, should I go for it?”
“I’m sure I don’t know, Shepherd.”
I was sure I detected disapproval in Siri’s terse tone.
When Tiffany came out, the stilettos were gone but she stomped me. She was shorter, barefoot, wearing only a giant Chesterfield t-shirt that came to her knees and hung off one shoulder, exposing amazingly smooth, tanned skin. She attacked her rare steak hungrily with knife and fork. Every time she leaned over her plate, I tried not to notice she was completely naked underneath the goddamn shirt. She looked at me and smiled innocently. It blew me away. She took me by the hand and led me to the couch.
“What time is it?” I asked her.
“After midnight,” she replied. “Happy Fourth of July.”
“It’s my birthday,” I told her. “I’m thirty today.”
I realized I had never told Jane my birthday but here I was, telling a stranger.
“Happy birthday, Shepherd,” Tiffany said, moving closer, smelling like flammable candy. “What do you want for your birthday?”
I couldn’t think of a single lie and she grinned wider.
“What was that thing you said about never doing anything for the first time?” she whispered, her hand soft on my face.
I had stopped drinking by the time Tiffany made her move but it was too late.
I was fucked.
26
I woke up on my birthday in my birthday suit, to the tune of “Hail to the Chief” playing on Tiffany’s phone. She answered the phone and slipped out of bed, striding gloriously nude around the room. Tiffany was something to look at. I was a Yankee Doodle Dandy filled with patriotic lust. This was hands-down the best rebound sex in history.
Then the triple trolls of guilt, fear and doubt arrived with a hangover for me.
What if Jane found out about Tiffany and me? Was Jane done with me for good? Would she take me back if she knew about Tiffany? What if she didn’t? Was my new buddy, Percy Chesterfield, also sleeping with Tiffany? Would he still like me if he knew where I had spent last night? Would my new boss, Amy? Would the Speaker agree to banning guns from the convention? I didn’t try asking Siri any of the questions. I looked at the bedside clock: 7:02 a.m.
“That was the FBI,” Tiffany explained, slipping on her too-big t-shirt. “They and the NYPD raided that Aryan Purity Nation cell in Brooklyn. They got a lot of guns but no bad guys yet. They also picked up Clayton Littleton on a weapons charge.” She giggled and turned on the flatscreen wall TV to FAX News. Predictably, there was nothing about Littleton’s arrest on the channel where he was a paid pundit. Tiffany switched to CNN, who were doing the Littleton story big.
BREAKING NEWS! FAX TV FIGURE ARRESTED ON GUN CHARGES.
They reported that Littleton had been busted by the NYPD and the FBI in his Manhattan hotel room. They were assisted by the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives. There was video of a smirking Littleton in handcuffs, outside a police precinct. The station had nothing about the APN raid yet.
“Fast work, Tiffany,” I told her.
“Your wish is my command, Shepherd,” she said, plopping on the bed and kissing me. She kissed my left temple on my three-scar slash. She pulled back the covers and began planting kisses on my left arm, on the pale spidery scars that wrapped up and down my flesh. When she moved to my legs and kissed the red rippling scars there, I pulled my legs away.
“All better,” I said.
“Lord-
a-mighty, what happened to you, sugar?” she asked. “The war?”
“Some of it,” I admitted.
“And the rest?”
“Flat tire,” I told her with a straight face, sitting up. “A blowout.”
“I read about that,” she said.
“Let’s talk about your scar, instead,” I countered, licking a small, faint crescent on the side of her right breast. “The war?”
“No,” she laughed. “Doubles tennis.”
“Why did this happen last night?” I asked.
“Why did what happen?”
“Us. My birthday present.”
“Why not?” Tiffany giggled. “You’re a tad banged-up, Shepherd, but a certifiable hottie. Maybe it was my patriotic duty. I wanted it, you wanted it. We’re not breaking any laws, are we?”
“That simple?” I asked.
“Some of the things we did were not so simple,” she laughed.
In the shower, we kept it simple. Breakfast was set up in the living room by the time we were dressed. Tiffany was calling, texting and tweeting as she nibbled on the room-service breakfast spread and flipped through TV channels. I told her she had done a good job, having the Tea Party guy busted. “You slapped Littleton down and he’s Governor Dodge’s buddy. That was a sharp political move.”
“Like you said, you left that part up to me. Just being a good citizen,” Tiffany grinned.
“But the APN guys are in the wind. That was the important part,” I told her. “We don’t want them walking around.”
“I know,” she said. “The FBI says they’ve got some hot leads on who and where those guys are.”
“In my experience, that’s what they say when they’ve got zip,” I replied.
“I hope that’s not true.”
“I’ve got to go back to… my office and get back to work,” I told her. “Tell me what Chesterfield decides.”
I felt vaguely slutty and had a guilty teenage urge to escape the scene of the sex crime.
“You don’t have to run off,” Tiffany said.
“Actually, I do. I have to meet a source to try and nail down those Aryan Purity Nation guys. It would be a lot easier if you would just get their address from the feds, although it sounds like they scared them off.”
“Oh, okay, great. But we’ll meet later?”
“Sure, as soon as one of us has something to report.”
“That’s not what I meant, darlin’.”
“Oh, right. Absolutely, Tiffany. Later.”
We kissed. For a while. On the way out, I made a guilt call to Jane at home but fortunately she had already gone to work. Or wasn’t answering my calls. I tried the animal hospital but she hadn’t yet arrived. I called Amy.
“Where the hell have you been, Shepherd? You haven’t answered your damn phone.”
“The uh… charge ran out and I fell asleep,” I lied.
“Where?”
“Where what?”
“Where did you sleep? It wasn’t here. I just got back from walking Skippy and Dr. Strangelove. Your bed was not slept in.”
“Ahhh… at home,” I told her, vaguely.
“At home with Jane or at home in your apartment?” she asked in a much too friendly voice.
Shit.
“Do you already know the answer to that question, Amy?”
“I do,” she replied in that same, chipper voice.
“Then why ask me?”
“Educational purposes,” she said.
Shit.
“So, you called Jane and my apartment last night?”
“You bet I did. Don’t worry, I pretended to be someone else. I told Jane I was someone at your paper. She gave me your cellphone and said you were at my house. When I called your apartment and did the same thing, it was strange. A woman who identified herself as your mother answered.”
“Why is that strange?”
“Well, she also gave me your cellphone number but she seemed to think I was someone from the Bureau. She said the FBI was waiting outside your place.”
“Oh, yeah. Right. That’s probably because of that story about Hardstein. Nothing to do with our case.”
“Oh, okay. So, you’re working. Where are you now?”
“Amy, do you know where I am?”
“Well, your GPS is still at the Knickerbocker. I assume you’re in the same place. Did you and Tiffany have a pleasant evening?”
“I drank too much. You hacked my phone?”
“It’s not really hacking,” Amy protested. “I just accessed your GPS locator.”
“I’m leaving now,” I told her. “I’m back on the job.”
“Are you going to meet your fed source?” Amy asked.
“On my way.”
“Okay, talk to you soon.”
As I went through the Jurassic Parking exit, the loud chants of the dueling demonstrators drowned out the noise of the city traffic, even at that early hour. As I crossed the street amid the shouting voices, I again felt twinges of guilt, the echoes of a distant Catholic childhood. I even imagined I heard my mother’s voice calling me. I laughed and walked faster.
“Francis! Francis! Over here!”
I turned toward the voice.
Guilt, hell. It was my mother.
27
My parents were holding signs and shouting from the crowd, the anti-Tea Party group, of course. They were in their full civil disobedience outfits: sneakers, jeans, protest t-shirts, swimming goggles and bicycle helmets—in case of tear gas or clubs. Mom was sporting a large CORPORATIONS ARE NOT PEOPLE! sign. Dad held a smaller JAIL THE WALL STREET CRIMINALS placard.
This was my parents’ idea of a fun-filled vacation in the Big Apple.
I approached cautiously. A cop told me to move on. I took out my press card, clipped it to my shirt, and he backed off.
“What are you doing here?” my mom asked.
“Working.”
“The FBI is looking for you,” my father said. “I think they only have a subpoena because they didn’t come in and search your apartment.”
I was momentarily stunned my dad had actually spoken to me.
“I know. My editor warned me. I’m avoiding them.”
Most parents would be upset if their sons told them they were withholding information from the FBI. My father seemed proud of me, for the first time in more than ten years. I didn’t tell him it was about Senator Hard-On. Or that I was working with the FBI on another case.
He asked what I was doing inside the convention center. The last thing I was going to say to him was that I had just slept with a Republican. I told them I was working on a story about the convention. About threats against Speaker Chesterfield. That was pretty much true.
“Everything okay with the apartment?” I asked, just to have something to say.
“It’s your apartment,” my mother said. “We saw the mail. Why did you tell me it was a friend’s place?”
“I’m only subletting. I knew you wouldn’t take it if you knew it was mine. So, are you going to be demonstrating here long?”
“Between here and 740 Park Avenue, for a few days,” my mom said.
“740 Park Avenue?”
“740 Park Avenue,” my dad said, as if correcting a dull student. “The richest apartment building in the world— home of the billionaire Roehm brothers, the main architects of the vast right-wing conspiracy against democracy.”
“Oh, that 740 Park Avenue,” I said, causing my dad’s bushy eyebrows to lower. “Aren’t those the guys who bankroll the Tea Party?”
“Exactly,” my dad said. “They bought Congress, and are now engineering the largest voter disenfranchisement scheme in history.”
I became aware of someone edging in closer to us, listening.
“Who are we talking about?” Ginny Mac asked.
“Buzz off, Ginny!” I told her.
“I was here first, Shepherd,” she laughed. “What are you keeping from me? Who are these lovely people? Do they know Littleton?”
“Littleton? No, we’re his parents,” my mom volunteered.
“Really? You’re Shepherd’s parents? Wow. I’m very happy to meet you,” she said, shaking hands in a demonstration of how unmitigated her gall was.
“Well, aren’t you pretty,” my mom said, turning on the charm. “Are you Jane?”
“No, I’m his other girlfriend. I’m Ginny Mac.”
“Other girlfriend?” my dad asked.
“She’s not my girlfriend,” I protested. “She’s a reporter for a competing newspaper. She’s crazy. She sent mob thugs to beat me up.”
“She did what?” my dad asked.
“I don’t know what he’s talking about,” Ginny cackled, giving me a quick kiss on the cheek. “He’s always making up lies about me. It must have been somebody else he screwed over who sent those guys to tune him up. I hear they are very unhappy with him. Tell your sonny boy to watch his back. Nice meeting you, Mr. and Mrs. Shepherd. Hope to see you again soon.”
Ginny strolled off, with a toodle-oo wave. What the hell was she doing here? Had she been assigned to get reactions from the political crowds to Littleton’s arrest? Or was she stalking me again? Did she send Jay-Jay and his pals? I saw Ginny make a call on her cellphone.
“Francis, what was that all about?” my mom asked. “Is she your girlfriend or not?”
“Not. We… dated… briefly—before I realized she was a dangerous psychopath.”
“I thought she was a journalist?”
“What’s the difference?”
“But you’re with Jane now?” my mom pressed.
“Yes. I don’t know. I may have screwed that up too, Mom. Look, I’ve got to get to work. Maybe we can talk later?”
They both smiled politely but I was sure they were relieved to get rid of me. As I turned and walked away, I spotted Ginny hovering behind some cops. I was afraid she was going to follow me but after a few steps, I noticed she turned back toward the demonstrators. My phone rang. It was Tiffany.
“Hi, Tiffany, what’s so…”
She was sobbing and gasping for breath.
“Tiffany, what’s wrong?”
“Shepherd, it’s Percy… Just get back here now! I don’t know what to do. I’m in his room… He’s dead!”
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