Capital Offense

“Do as she asks. For the most part she’s playing nicely into our plans.”

“Let’s just hope that Mort doesn’t tell her anything about our existence,” Mark said.

“He may be a weasel sneaking around the hen house, but he wouldn’t be that stupid. If he did, our plans to use her as a cover would be jeopardized.”

“Should we update the others?”

“Let’s just keep this between us. We still need Mort, and this may work to our advantage.”

Mark stared at the phone receiver. How far was he willing to go for a Cabinet post in Washington? He wasn’t sure, but certainly a few phone calls couldn’t hurt. He just prayed that his limits wouldn’t be tested.

TWENTY

The White Cross Charity Ball, held each year on the last Saturday of April in Missouri ’s capital, was the biggest and most important social event of the year. Carolyn and Warner arrived promptly at 8:00 P.M.

“We’ll be sitting with Governor Radcliff and his wife,” Carolyn said. “Senator Rudly, and of course, Senator Green and his wife. Meet me at the table right before dinner.” They paused at the entrance to the ballroom and were announced.

“Did you hear me?” she asked.

Warner glared at her.

“It took me four phone calls to obtain these prominent seats,” she said. “You could show some appreciation.”

“Whatever.” He didn’t like her attitude. As far as he was concerned, she didn’t have anything to complain about. He was keeping up his end of the deal, more or less.

He campaigned endlessly, gave speeches to civic clubs all over the state, and sang in the friggin‘ Baptist church choir so that he would be seen on television every Sunday next to the preacher. He had even agreed to a series of thirty-second television commercials, feeling like an idiot as he confessed all of the mistakes he’d made as a senator. Then, he asked the good people of Missouri for their forgiveness. Now that had taken balls, he thought.

“You had better smile at me before someone notices us,” she said.

He responded by giving her a flash of even white teeth. God, he felt like he was teetering on his tiptoes with a noose snugged around his neck.

“I see Edmund,” Warner gestured to the left. “He’s over there talking to Bill Rudly. I think I’ll go say hello.”

Carolyn’s face flushed, but her voice remained calm. “Don’t push me. Warner. I mean it, that’s a non- negotiable part of our arrangement. I’m history if you involve your father in our lives ever again.”

Dinner was announced, and they took their seats. The governor and his wife were introduced to the attendees. Arriving late. Senator Jackson Green and his wife followed the governor’s enhance. Typically rude, Warner thought. The clueless couple seemed oblivious to the etiquette that was required of them.

A ball of rage flamed in Warner’s chest. His field of vision narrowed to just the Greens, and the man who’d beaten him. The man responsible for the state of his life now. Jackson Green.

Get control of yourself, Warner told himself, attempting to dowse his anger with a cool head. This was not the time to show weakness. In fact. Warner realized that it was a moment to show up the old farmer who possessed no more finesse than the backside of a sow. The muscles in his square jaw worked as he fought back his resentment. Green was nothing but a two-bit political hack from the Missouri backwoods.

Warner pasted a smile on his face, stood up and excused himself

Carolyn shot him a quizzical glance.

Warner whispered to her that he was going to the restroom, then exited the ballroom with a confident stride.

Inside the men’s room, he leaned forward on the sink, staring into the basin. Finally he was angry, and the anger felt good. He lifted his gaze to the bathroom mirror and stared into his own gunmetal gray eyes. It was time to regroup. Time to channel his frustration into positive action. Just a few days ago, Carolyn had asked him where his fight had gone. He hadn’t had an answer then, but now he knew it was back.

“First step,” Warner said to himself, “regain my seat in the Senate.”

Broad shoulders squared, he went straight to the bar in the foyer adjacent to the ballroom. What he needed was a drink. “A shot of Jack Dan-” he began, then caught himself This was not the time to tie one on. “Make that a Perrier with a lime.”

He paid the bartender, then took a long pull of his drink.

“Enjoying yourself, son?”

Warner turned slowly, meeting the older man’s gaze. “I’m not your son.”

“Watch your mouth. Your cheek ain’t too old for the back of my hand.” Edmund glanced at Warner’s glass. “That’s it, have another drink.”

He raised his glass. “I just might. It’s Perrier.”

“Oh. I know you better than that. What is it, vodka or gin?” Edmund threw a ten on the bar. “Have a few on me.”

“What do you want?”

“You need me, son. Don’t let that bitch continue to separate us. Join the Council. Carolyn’s the one you need protection from, not us. We’re behind you. I give you my word. It’s your wife who likes to keep secrets. She’s keeping you from your true supporters, and pulling you around by your dick. Call me when you’re ready to hear the truth.”

“Quit rambling, old man.”

Edmund’s neck flushed. “I ain’t rambling, boy. You’re being as naive and foolish as a virgin attending a slumber party at a whorehouse.”

“That’s priceless. You calling me a virgin among whores.”

“Speaking of whores, ask yours about her partnership with Mort Fields. She’s pulling her panties over your eyes, and making deals behind your back. You tell her she’d better watch her step, or I’ll enjoy watching her fall.”

Warner’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Mort Fields? What-”

“Enjoy your evening, son.” The senior Lane turned and walked away.

Warner had watched those well-staged exits his entire life. He’d always hated them. He hated them even more now, just as he hated Edmund Lane. But was Edmund telling him the truth? Was he, in fact, an ally, in spite of the animosity he inflicted on the man the world thought was his son?

***

Returning to the ballroom. Edmund Lane made his way between the tables until he reached his own, and took his seat just as Governor Radcliff completed his remarks.

“What did you think of the speech?” Mort Fields asked.

“I didn’t really listen. Radcliff has very little to say that interests me.”

“I’d agree with you there.”

Edmund lowered his voice. “Mort, we need to talk.” He paused. “There’s something that I have to tell you, but it puts me in a bad spot. Puts you in an ugly light too.” Edmund glanced around the table. Everyone was involved in conversation or getting up to dance.

Mort took a sip of his drink, waiting for Edmund to begin.

“I’ve recently learned that you’re the subject of an investigation.” Edmund said, then waited to see Mort’s reaction. There was none.

“It’s not the authorities. It’s a private job.”

Mort swirled the ice in his glass, and stared out at the people on the dance floor. “Who’s investigating?”