***
Monday Afternoon—Oregon (same time as Hong Kong)
If there’s anything that Prez understands, it's image. How to impress, how to attract. And it’s not just her body or fifty thousand dollars worth of clothing and bling.
It’s her car. A gas-guzzling, environmentally inefficient but oh-so-sexy Corvette Stingray. With its sleek, sculpted exterior that is more athletic than auteur and a cockpit that feels more like NASA than NASCAR, it is the perfect car to say “American in power.” And when Prez drives it, the message is, “Dynamic American woman in control—I challenge you.”
And that’s exactly the message that Prez wants to convey as she pulls into the driveway in the country home of Sen. Hiram Franklin. Even though she can’t see him, she knows he is looking at her.
Prez has spent a lot of time with Hiram over the past ten years, meeting him initially when she interned at the state Legislature. She discreetly helped finance his reelection campaigns and slipped him unmarked envelopes of one-hundred-dollar bills, always secretively and out of the public eye.
She’s never asked for anything in return, but today, Hiram knows that she is there to collect.
For Hiram, the chairman of the Native American Gambling Committee for Oregon, it’s a position that allows him to line his pockets by those wanting him to look the other way. When Native American tribal casinos started having financial difficulties, a special subcommittee was formed to give guidance and enact provisional laws. Hiram became chair of this group as well.
Because members of the Oregon Legislature are only part time, this subcommittee has not met as often as it should in order to be effective. However, with the Coyote River Casino on the verge of shutting down, Hiram decided that the group had to meet for several days in a row to enact emergency measures. They will start meeting tomorrow, and Prez asked for a private audience with Hiram in advance of their deliberations.
Prez steps out of her Vette and goes to the country home’s door where Senator Franklin stands waiting.
“Welcome to my summer home, Prez.”
“Let’s cut the chitchat, Senator.”
She starts unbuckling his belt.
The door closes.
There isn’t a man with a pulse who wouldn’t love to conquer Prez… or to have her conquer him.
***
Half an hour later, on a king-sized bed covered with luxurious silk sheets, Beast pulls himself off Beauty… or maybe it should be Blubber pulls himself off Babe.
“I didn’t even know I had places like that, Prez,” he gasps.
“Worlds of discovery, sources of enchantment,” coos the Asian seductress as her fingers dance over the senator’s expansive middle-age bulge and then slip lower… and lower…
The senator’s mouth climbs over Prez’s tan nipples. “Mm. What are you doing after dinner?”
“Maybe dessert together?” says Prez, licking the senator’s lips. “Unless you’d prefer another main course.”
“Why didn’t we do this before? That was honestly the best I’ve ever had,” moans Hiram.
Prez nuzzles her face into Hiram’s neck. “We never did it before because you never invited me here before.”
Which is true. Until today, it was always a casual walk in the park with both wearing sunglasses to disguise themselves, being discreetly chauffeured in Hiram’s Cadillac with its tinted windows, or both acting like tourists as they looked at the fountains in front of the Oregon Capitol Building.
But now, as things are stepping into higher gear, Prez needs to call in her markers. Doing a deal with the Coyote River Tribe will need special legislation or at the very least, an exemption or amendment from the very tight laws governing the management and ownership of tribal casinos.
A meeting like this is why Chin had her go to school and live in this state full of yokels, hicks and Injuns. He saw that Native American tribal leaders couldn’t run a general store, let alone a world-class casino. Chin was also sure that some of Prez’s classmates would become influential in politics.
And yes, some did. Ten years later, some of Prez’s classmates are city councilors, congressmen and members of the state Legislature.
It’s the state politicians that Chin wanted Prez to focus on. They made so little money that they could be got for a song, and Prez has a few in her “sphere of influence.” By pulling a few strings and spending more than a few dollars, she was able to get a couple of them onto the gambling committee.
That’s not enough. Gambling still has huge opposition, but as much as the moral majority wants to complain about the demon rum or the evils of gambling, politicians know they’ve got to make up the state’s lost revenue from somewhere. And a bankrupt Coyote River Hotel and Casino is worth less than a leaking boat in a tsunami.
The problem is that the chair of the Native American Gambling Committee has kept his position with his hypocritical outdated appearance of morality. But like every politician (and every person), Hiram has his price.
Prez is paying that price in spades to an obese, aged pompous fart.
***
“Senator Walker, my suggestion is the best one available for the Coyote River Tribe,” says Prez as she guides his hand over her breasts and down to her navel.
Hiram feasts his eyes as he sits up in the bed.
“It’s not so easy, Prez. I got the Hindus, Muslims and Christians all telling me to cut out all gambling. They don’t agree about shit, but they agree about that. I got the tree huggers saying that the casino’s an environmental disaster, that it’s polluting some unknown bird’s natural habitat. And then there’s the miners that want to rip up the land for some gold and coal. I’m being pulled on all sides.”
“If you don’t approve my taking over, Coyote River’s going under,” says Prez as she sucks on his fingers and massages his genitalia.
“I can’t do it, Prez. You’re too young; you’re not Native American. Hell, you’re not even born here. It would be political suicide,” says the sixty-three-year-old pot-bellied man sitting in front of her.
You look so ridiculous with that combover. Prez smiles. “There are other kinds of death, too, Hiram.”
“What are you insinuating, Prez?”
“Not insinuating anything. But how long do you think you would last if the source of certain of your campaign contributions was revealed?”
Prez sits up straight, as does Hiram.
The senator is ready for this. He’s not gonna let the Chinawoman bulldoze her. “If you did that, your career would be toast. I would make sure that everyone knew exactly how the funds came about. That you forced them on me and I feared for my life if I didn’t take them. And who do you think that they are going to believe? Me or the daughter of a criminal who’s known to have laundered billions into legitimate enterprises?”
Prez is nonplussed, but Hiram sees she’s stifling anger.
Hiram snickers sarcastically. “You think I haven’t figured out who you are. Or that you donated to my opponent the same amount you gave me? Oh, and by the way, this entire conversation is being videoed and stored in several different places. Should something happen to me, the video will be released immediately to the police, so not only would your lobbying career be over, so would your life as a free woman.”
As if I’m not ready for you, asshole. “I’m sorry to hear that you do not agree with my offer. As to your comments about my father, that was very hurtful to hear you slag him like that. He ran a little restaurant in Eugene and was well loved by the community.”
She takes out her cell phone and shows him an old picture of her late father standing alongside outside the Wong’s Chinese Diner.
Could the intel be wrong? Let’s go with the flow then. “That place served the worst chicken chow mein that I ever ate. The old man must have used cat instead of chicken. You want to play cell phone pictures? Let me show you something.”
Hiram pulls out his phone and types away. “Let me find it… there we go.”
&nbs
p; He shows her the phone’s screen. No pictures but a message typed on it.
Five million up front and 10 percent ongoing profits. And you make me happy every time I feel the itch.
“That’s a really interesting text. Not exactly my cup of tea though. I’m sorry we couldn’t get things done.”
“You’ll come back.” The senator snickers. “And next time, it’ll cost you more.”
“Thanks, Senator.”
Prez gets up and starts dressing.
Whoever said it is right. Women are sexier when they’re mad.
***
For someone who clawed his way to heights rarely seen, Chin’s kids are an abject disappointment to the rogue Shaolin monk.
Duke. King. Queenie. Prince. They accomplished little in life and were snuffed out by Noah Reid as easily like a burning candle in the wind. Prez? The oldest is always a favorite, but she’s got to prove herself too. But this time, I will be there if she needs me. No, when she needs me.
At first, Chin didn’t want Prez to be part of the biz. He had seen the movie The Godfather and had hoped that Prez might make it in the real world, maybe even become a real president. His plan was to make her wealth so squeaky clean that no one could ever discover its origins. For years, he told her he was an international businessman, and she believed it.
He was able to keep up that charade until she turned nineteen. On her birthday, her philosophy prof raped her, in his office, when she went in to discuss a mark she got on an assignment about Immanuel Kant’s The Critique of Pure Reason.
She was so distraught, she called Chin and said she wished the prof were dead.
Chin asked, “Do you mean that?”
Still reeling in emotion from the violation, she said, “Of course.”
The next day, the prof was found dead of natural causes in his study. His body was slumped over an open copy of The Critique of Pure Reason.
From that day on, Prez was no longer interested in pursuing a career in business, or at least not a career in legitimate business. She had a taste of forbidden fruit, and that single morsel was enough. While wanting to forge her own path, she always consulted her father on major issues.
There was another lesson Prez learned that day.
Never lie to her father. The prof had not raped her. She had tried to seduce him, but the flaming faggot was completely turned off. If she had really wanted to, she could have killed him herself, but she was too afraid to tell Chin that her motive was to get her grade changed from an A to an A plus.
But that was then, and this is now. So much for the memories.
RING! Chin picks up his cell.
“Hello, Prez.”
“Hiram wouldn’t bite,” says Prez at the other end of a call.
“Of course not. Politicians promise you the world before they’re elected or if they want something, but once they get in, they just go back to being the scum they are. Vote scroungers and payola perverts. Waiting for every handout they can get.”
“Shall I put more pressure on him? Get some photos?”
“No. All that does is give another opportunity to get stabbed in the back. We’ve spent enough money on him.”
“Yes, Father.”
“How much money is it going to take to do the Indian deal?”
“I don’t know. Two mil clears out all their debts, so I’ve offered them three. That’s all I have.”
“They should be happy with that. If worse comes to worst, I will assist you.”
“But more bribes, kickbacks… who knows how much?”
“I’ve told you not to go that direction. It is time to assert yourself. You give in now, next time they want more. It never ends. Start with Hiram. Make your solutions permanent.”
Thank God for that. Never have to spend another moment with him. “Then what?”
“Then you work on number two. If number two doesn’t pan out, you go down the list to number three. And so on.”
“We don’t have time for that. Roger has called the loan and will foreclose in a week if they don’t have a solution.”
“Then you better make sure that number two is a done deal.”
“Yes, Father.”
She clicks off her cell and steels herself. It’s all business.
***
It takes almost two hours to get to go the small private cemetery in the New Territories just outside of Hong Kong proper where Noah’s parents lay. Noah has actually never even visited because the memory of their deaths by a drug-addicted young person they had wanted to help was so painful. But now that he’s married, he feels that this is his next step to full adulthood.
Master Wu had given Noah specific directions as to where the grave site was. It was a good thing because in this little wooded area full of private, quasi-illegal graves, mainly of the inhabitants were too poor to afford cremation or burial in a regular ceremony.
The little bronze plaque with the single word of Reid was exactly where Master Wu had said it would be. Fifteen steps to the left of the big, gnarled red date tree and then five paces toward the town. It was still shiny. While Noah had not been coming, Master Wu had made quarterly visits ever since the Reids’ murder ten years ago. He made sure that their resting place was clean, and he always brought them something to eat in the spirit world.
Noah holds Olivia’s hand.
“Hi, Dad. Hi, Mom. Sorry I haven’t been by to visit, but I want you to meet Olivia. She’s your new daughter-in-law.”
“Hello, Mom. Hello, Dad. I hope you don’t mind my calling you that. Noah’s told me so much about you. I wish I had known you when you were alive, but I guess we’ll just have to wait for that.”
Noah and Olivia fold their hands and make three standing bows in front of the grave with their right fists cupped in their left hands—another side of their Chineseness.
***
The next stop is a lot more upscale—the Happy Valley Cemetery in Hong Kong. Located next to the Happy Valley Race Course, this has been the final earthly home of movie stars, politicians and rich criminals (among others) for a century and a half.
Olivia and Noah stand before two graves situated side by side. One reads Mary Novak Southam, the other, Garret Southam.
Olivia’s soft tones ring louder than any megaphone or amplifier could do—at least to Noah.
“This is the man I love, Mom. The man I want to spend the rest of my life with. Thanks, Dad, for bringing him to me.”
This time, no ceremonial bows but a nod of the head to the gravestones.
Family duties fulfilled, it’s time to catch a plane to Shanghai.
Chapter 6
Conversation over, Prez puts away her cell phone as she arrives at her Corvette. She presses the electronic car key opener, but the door refuses to open. She keeps clicking away, but something’s wrong because it just doesn’t respond.
Wiry thin sixty-year-old George Jeffries, Hiram’s handyman/chauffeur/you-name-it, approaches.
“Problem, ma’am?”
“George, when are you going to stop calling me that? Ma’am is what you call your mother or your aunt.”
“Sure thing, Prez. It’s just the senator likes me to be proper.”
“Screw the senator. Screw everything. The battery’s gone dead in my fob. You wouldn’t happen to have a spare one, would you?”
George laughs. “Right. I just happen to have a spare one in my pocket… ”
He sees that Prez doesn’t see the humor. “Sorry. Closest Chevy dealer is probably an hour away.”
Prez groans. “That’s two hours there and back. I’ve got a meeting in half an hour that I can’t miss. You got an electric whatever or gizmo to zap this? I’ve got a spare in the glove compartment.”
Typical female. Glove compartment is the stupidest place to keep a spare key if you can’t get in through the door. “I got a screwdriver to try the lock. And if that doesn’t work, I got a hammer to break open the window.”
“That sounds expensive.”
“I’d drive you, but I got to take Hiram out in half an hour.”
Prez sighs. “Okay. I’ve got no choice. Let’s get the tools.”
Prez smiles inwardly. The last couple of minutes were just another show. She knew Hiram would be watching her from the window and would be suspicious if she was there any longer than necessary.
Prez whispers to George as she accompanies him to the garage. “I have five thousand in cash if you’ll let me have access to the security video feeds for one minute.”
George continues walking normally, knowing too that Hiram is watching them all the harder. “Six.”
“Done.”
“And a quickie.”
“I would have done that for free,” says the straight-faced Prez.
They enter the garage. Once George shows Prez where the computer controlling the video feeds is, it takes her all of twenty seconds to find the footage of her private meeting with Hiram. The pervert also had their sexcapade in the bedroom. It takes all of forty-five seconds for Prez to upload it onto her iPhone before deleting that as well.
And George’s quickie? Well, they are out of the garage in three minutes with hammer and screwdriver in hand.
As for the problem with the Corvette remote? Turns out there was no problem. Just before he was about to bash the window, George tried the handle on the driver’s door and discovered that the car door was unlocked. The remote didn’t respond because Prez was using her apartment key fob and not the Corvette’s remote control. The door was unlocked the whole time.
Hiram sees all this from his perch at the window.
Just another dumb broad.
***
Twenty minutes later, there’s a twinkle in the senator’s eye as George opens the Caddie’s door for him. “I don’t think I’ll go to Misty’s today.”
RITUAL SACRIFICE: The Ultimate Alpha Female & Political Corruption on the West Coast (Noah Reid Action Suspense Thriller Series Book 5) Page 4
