Banksters 39: Caprica

Richard liked uncomfortable silence. He got to inflate himself, make himself look smarter and more important when he didn't open up his mouth. Of course, if you keep your mouth shut forever, people will begin to suspect you're a bigger idiot than the guy who won't shut up about it. “Why was my brother part of a sting?”

“Pardon me?”

“Last night, your new employee practically put her hand in his pants. Are you telling me that's a coincidence? Why are you investigating my brother?”

“The more pertinent question is why would your brother be part of a takeover of his own company?”

“Shit,” Richard said. “Because they promised he could run it. Whatever survives the takeover, they told him they'd put him in charge. And not only that, I bet they've even built a court jester of a position for me, too. My fuckwit of a brother. But your investigation ends. We know he was helping Warwick-- we don't need to know anything else.”

“Fine. Lots of other people to look into.”

“Good. That's part of your new job. But next time one of the people you're looking into shares a last name with me, I damn well better know before you try to whore information out of them.”

“That's fair.” I went back to my office. The US Attorney was sitting behind my desk.

“I blame you,” her mouth shriveled unattractively, so it almost looked like an anus with teeth.

“Excuse me?” I asked, walking around to the guest chair on the other side of my desk. She slide across a newspaper, opened up to the politics section. She pointed at a bold headline that read: US Attorney Fails Confirmation in the Senate.

“That was me. After agreeing to your dumb enough an inbred dalmatian wouldn't have gone in for it idea.”

“So you've come here to glare soulfully at me?”

“I'm here to cash in the favor you owe me.”

“You're not going to wait until you've found an office you want?”

“I don't have the kind of money it takes to start a campaign. And about the only competitive race in the state is that retiring senator’s seat. And my main political credit is failing to be confirmed as a US Attorney, which is like getting shot down by the town bicycle.”   

“So you want a job?”

“Your company has a questionable record; having an ex-Attorney on staff would cut down on suspicion. I'm not particularly picky; I just need something to tide me over until I find the next thing.” 

“Can you keep something to yourself?”

“I actually have high level clearance as part of my job.”

“I guess that's a kind of yes. Our general counsel is on his way out. I could put in a good word”

“I was hoping for something with a lower profile. No offense, but that's kind of a step backwards in my career, from US Attorney to corporate sell-out.”

“US Attorney's salaries are public. Corporate general counsels, not so much. He makes three times what you do. And that's because, ironically, he's a shit negotiator.” 

“How long before he's gone?”

“A month, max, though I'd suspect considerably sooner than that.”

She stood up, took my hand, and shook it. “Keep me posted.” She walked out of the room, and I couldn’t help but wonder if the short skirt had been for my benefit.

As soon as she was gone, I texted Grey. I’d scratched her back, and it looked like I was going to need someone to scratch mine- or at least someone else’s.

I went down to the cafeteria for an early lunch. I noticed George Morgan’s secretary pay particular attention to me as I went down the elevator. So it didn’t surprise me when he showed up a few minutes later downstairs, with a tray of his own, and sat down at my table.

“You’re our new strategy officer, right? I’d like to pick your brain. What does it take to enter politics?”

“Besides ten million dollars? That depends on the level you’re talk about. Local offices require a lot of notoriety in the community, name recognition. State offices, like, say, that open senate seat, it’s a higher bar for success. Attractiveness, mostly grooming, is important.” He sat up a little straighter; he wasn’t just the handsome Morgan brother, but he might have been the most attractive man on the executive floor. He had a strong jaw, and well-kept brown hair cut in  a Christian Bale style. “Youth. Senators are allowed to get old- practically ancient- but they rarely start old, relatively speaking. And an ability to connect with people. That can mean articulation, intelligence, or as you’ve seen with politicians like George Bush, just being able to exude a kind of everymaness.”

He dithered a carrot around in some ranch dressing, then dropped the pretense of wanting to eat it, and let it fall back onto his tray. “Be honest with me, and I’ll try not to be a dick about your response: do you think I have what it takes to hack it as a senator?”

“Honestly? I’m surprised you aren’t already in politics. But you’re coming from the business community, at a time when the economy could use a good kick in the nuts.”

“But also out of finance, and an institution that took bailout money, too.”

“Yeah, but we’re no Lehman, or Goldman Sachs. Being fourth largest has the benefit of not being one of the failed brand names.”

“Would you vote for me?” he asked, and I almost felt sorry for him.

“You should never ask that question. Ask, ‘Can I count on your support?’ The former is putting people on the spot, trying to pressure them into voting for you- or at least say they will. And people don’t like that kind of pressure. But asking for support, from a position of need, it makes you sound humble, and human, and like it’s a cause that you’re fighting for with them.”

“Goddamn,” he said. “I see why Richard likes you so damn much.”

That made me wonder: had his brother told him Julee was working for me? Either he was playing it close to the vest, or he really didn’t know. That was intriguing.

“I ought to get back up to work,” George said, taking the tray he had barely even played with and dumping it.

I finished up and went upstairs. Petra ambushed me at her desk, and say that I was still carrying around an apple I hadn’t eaten. “You already ate? I was hoping we could talk. Tonight, maybe? I am full of your baby. Not that I’m using that to try to guilt you. Sorry. I just meant…”

“I think tonight’s good. Normally I refer people to my secretary to be sure, but… it should be. I’ll try and make sure nothing comes up.”

I plopped down in my chair in my office. The more I thought about it, the more I realized using Grey against George was sloppy. It made more sense to bring in a professional. You don’t get anywhere in finance without knowing the number of a reputable escort service. It wasn’t every venture, but some people, a handshake, a signature, a deal wasn’t concluded until you blew your load in a hooker.

The service I used was a coordinator; they put you in touch with the girls, and you did the negotiating from there. “Do you know the name of the contractor you’d like to hire, or would you like to discuss your needs and see if I can make a suggestion?”

“Caprica,” I said. Her real name was Denise Martin, and I actually had her direct number- it wasn’t the first time I’d used her- but the agencies tended to act just like pimps, including the weird abusiveness if you went around them.

“Caprica?”

“Mark, I’ve licked your taint; you can call me Denise.”

“I’d like to hire you for a longer-term gig. A current co-worker is looking into politics. He’s youngish, handsome, rich- he’s actually got a shot. And I’d like you to cozy up to him, make yourself his girlfriend on a wife trajectory. You know, the whole Pretty Woman fantasy.”

“So you’re trying to make an honest girl out of me.”

“God no. If anything, I want you to lie even more than usual. I don’t want him to know about your night job. You still moonlighting as a publicist?”

“Pays crap, by comparison, but it’s kind of fun; and it keeps me stimulated.” 

“You are such a tease. But I’m booby-trapping him; if he plays nice then there are no worries, but if he becomes a liability, we leak that he’s been using campaign funds to pay an escort service.”

“That’s diabolical- but I relish any opportunity to screw a politician- since they’re always screwing us.”

“I take it you don’t mean literally.”

“For starters, they make sure the IRS audits the shit out of sex workers; heaven forbid their millionaire friends pay what they did under Clinton, but if a hooker tries to get a single set of frilly panties she hasn’t used with a client yet exempted they will throw the very heavy tax code book at you. I have never been cornholed as badly as I have by Uncle Sam. And because they refuse to regulate an ‘illegal’ profession, we get to exist in the shitty defacto system regulated by pimps and violence. It’s fucked up, that politicians use our illegal service, but when we try to make use of theirs, we get shut down. Sorry; political rant over. This amateur politico have a name?”

“George Morgan.”

“And an approach?”

“He’ll be at the Taj tonight, drinking alone. Get there by 7, and he should be the right kind of pliable. He likes his women strong, but silent.”

“I feel like Bond, Jane Bond, with a license to fuck.”

“You’ve already started writing the porno in your head, haven’t you?”

“You’d watch the living shit out of my porno.”  

“I would at that.” She hung up. She was a beautiful girl, and much smarter than you’d assume- much smarter than you’d probably suspect possible. I’d say F, but I have; maybe M, if it weren’t so damn cliché.