“Off and on for a few years. Your father is one of a handful of regulars.”
“You see a lot of these black sedans for hire here in D.C.”
“Yes, you do. My company runs over fifty, but I would put the total number for the city around two thousand.”
“A lot of congressmen?” Jake asked.
“Yeah, sure. And a lot of lawyers, diplomats. Your father is the rare businessman.”
“What do you think of him?
“Who?”
“My father,” Jake answered. “And you can tell me how you really feel. I don’t know him that well to be honest, and I’m sort of trying to figure him out.”
“I don’t know if I can answer that question.”
“Sure you can.”
“Then let me rephrase it. I don’t know if I should answer that question.”
“I’ll make it easy on you. I’ll go first. My father ran out on my mother and me when I was too little to remember. From what I have seen, he is a both a schmoozer and a bully.”
The light at the intersection of Twenty-Fourth Street turned yellow, then red, and the car pulled to a halt. The driver looked over his shoulder at Jake in the back seat.
“Your father expects me to show up on time and drive him wherever he wants to go, without spilling his coffee on him or his newspaper. That is my official answer.”
“What is your unofficial answer, off the record?”
“Persistent, aren’t you?” the driver said with a smile.
“I’m just looking for some clues. I’m getting the idea of who my father is when I am around him, but you never know.”
“Okay, Jake. Off the record, your father is the moodiest person I have ever driven. You know, these days they have all these medical terms—bipolar, manic-depressive, chemically unbalanced, whatever. Some people are just mean and nasty until they need something, and then they are sweet as pie. Now, mind you, I’m just the driver, so our relationship consists of him sitting in the back seat and me driving. But I hear him on the phone, and drive him with his business acquaintances. This isn’t a limo, there’s no privacy window, so I hear it all. He can be nasty or sweet. And I know most of the time which it’s going to be before he even gets in the car.”
“Thanks for saying so.”
“I didn’t say anything, if you know what I mean.”
“I hear you.”
The car pulled up to the front of Jake’s mother’s house. The light from the kitchen cast a faint yellow hue into the living room.
“I’ll see you around, Shawn.”
“Take my card, Jake. If you ever need a ride, give me a ring.”
“Only if I can charge it to my Dad’s account.”
“Hey, he’s your father. That’s between you and him. I just drive the car.” ***
The Presidential Club was
Senator Day made his way through the room, nodding at colleagues, acknowledging familiar faces through the dim light and thick cigar smoke. The Presidential Club was Washington’s version of Las Vegas. What happened in the expensive lounge stayed in the lounge. It wasn’t called a club by accident. Wives of members were permitted but frowned upon. Lovers were a different story. Call girls made the occasional guest appearance.
Senator Day directed Peter to a table near the rear of the club, and a waiter with a small humidor appeared as the two sunk into their respective leather chairs. Peter selected two Dominican cigars wrapped with tobacco grown from the finest Cuban seeds and handed one to the senator. The waiter placed a cigar cutter and a box of oversized matches on the table before disappearing in search of the senator’s favorite brandy, stored on the private shelf behind the full bar.
“How is business, Peter?” the senator asked. Peter understood that dinner with Jake and the senator’s blonde aide was merely a preamble to the discussion at the club. A meal for the sake of a meal before real conversation could take place.
“Very well, Senator. Thank you for asking. If all goes well, I may have some upcoming business in Brazil.”
“Brazil?”
“Yes. Have you been?”
“No, I’m afraid not.”
“The women are beautiful.”
“I’m sure they are.” Inside, the senator cringed at the thought of another international tryst.
Peter continued. “The Brazilians understand the balance between work and life’s other pleasures. They don’t let one interfere with the other.”
“An admirable quality.”
“Indeed.”
The senator inhaled as he ran his nose along the length of the cigar. He reached for the cutter on the table, snipped off half an inch, and put the unlit cigar to his lips.
“How did your filming efforts turn out?”
“Very professional. We completed editing last week. All told, our trip produced thirty solid minutes of footage.”
“When is the film scheduled for its big screen release?”
Senator Day squirmed slightly in his chair. His thoughts turned toward the photographs he had received in the mail and the wire transfers that vanished without a trace into a bank in Hong Kong. The senator lied. “I’m planning to work it into the schedule this month with the Special Committee on Overseas Labor. We are at a critical juncture and need to make our recommendation to the Senate.”
“I’m sure your constituents will be pleased with your recommendation.”
The senator flashed his best smile. He knew all too well how deep Peter kept his hand in Congress’s pocket. His guest understood that the senator had a vested interest in the garment industry. Peter personally knew many of the businessmen with manufacturing interests in the senator’s home state—businessmen with thick briefcases and thicker wallets that pushed, coerced, and bullied for status quo and the ability to overlook a little human suffering in the name of making money.
“I would love to see the footage from Saipan,” Peter said.
If you only knew what I know, the senator thought. That tape and those photos could ruin my life.
The senator lied again. “That can be arranged.”
“Please let me know. Of course, I’d also be happy to testify before the committee in any way that you see fit.”
“I’m at your disposal.”
Peter took a sip of his brandy and a pull from his cigar. The senator looked around the room to keep tabs on the night’s list of who’s who.
“How is your chief-of-staff?”
“Scott? Took a few weeks before they could even do surgery due to swelling and internal hemorrhaging. He was scheduled to be back at work this week, but that was before he developed a staph infection. The doctors aren’t saying when he will be released. In the meantime, the rest of my staff is floundering to cover for him. Twenty employees who can’t get out of each other’s way.”
“Waterskiing can be dangerous.”
“Everything can be dangerous,” the senator answered. The senator saw his segue into the heart of the topic he was looking to broach. “By the way, I wanted to thank you and Lee Chang for your assistance with my aide. Lee
