Whitewash (19 page)

Tallahassee, Florida

Leon signed the receipt, proud of the one-line scribble that started with an
L
and then flatlined. By now the signature was second nature though Leon wasn’t his Christian name. He had given himself the nickname years ago when he decided to go into business for himself. It was something he picked up from a book about chameleons.

He’d actually bought one of the lizards from a guy who ran an exotic-animal store in Boca Raton. Well, it wasn’t so much a store as the back dock of a warehouse. The guy had all kinds of lizards, pretty much any size and color you could imagine. The chameleons fascinated Leon, changing colors right before his eyes, half the lizard green on a leaf and the other half still brown as the bark. How cool would that be if people could do that crap? But Leon didn’t bother with disguises like so many of his colleagues. He didn’t need to. He already had the best one of all.

The waitress picked up his receipt while she filled his coffee cup. Not a word. Barely a glance. If someone stopped her later and asked about him she’d never be able to describe him. She’d hardly remember him. That was the beauty of being plain and ordinary. No one ever noticed Leon. He couldn’t buy a better disguise if he tried. And he didn’t ruin it by wearing bright colors or anything trendy. No stripes. No patterns. No cute designer logos. He wore short-sleeved, button-down shirts, the kind that didn’t need ironing and were easy to pack. Same with the sport coats and trousers. Even his sunglasses were off the rack at Walgreens. Absolutely nothing to draw attention to himself.

So yeah, he may have gotten Leon from “chameleon,” but not because the lizard could disguise itself and change colors. The book said the word
chameleon
meant “earth lion.” Lions were the king of the jungle. Life was a freaking jungle. Leon liked thinking of himself as a lion.

He sipped the coffee. No use wasting the warm-up. He fished out a couple of Tums from his pants pocket, checked them for lint and separated them from a bullet, a nail clipper, three dimes and a quarter, then popped the Tums into his mouth.
Fucking indigestion.
In the past two years he’d survived a box cutter slitting his throat, a gunshot through the shoulder and more broken bones than he cared to count, but in the end it’d probably be his own fucking gas that did him in.

He took another sip of coffee to wash down the crumbs of antacids, wishing for a beer instead of the cup of joe. But then he didn’t choose this two-bit diner. One of those occupational hazards. And from the looks of it, Leon knew he wouldn’t be frequenting any bars or clubs on this duty call. Although she’d surprised him earlier, stopping by a liquor store and picking up what looked like a bottle of whiskey. Maybe she wasn’t as straitlaced as she looked. ’Course, it could have just been that freaky lightning storm and the even freakier security guard. Leon still wasn’t sure what the hell that was all about, but it certainly kept him in the shadows when he could have taken advantage of a prime opportunity. All kinds of weird accidents happen when the electricity goes off.

He sat in the far corner of the diner with his back to her, but he could watch her in the plate glass mirror above the soda fountain. For a small woman she could sure put it away—cheeseburger, onion rings smothered in ketchup. But just one cup of coffee that she’d been nursing for the last half hour—the burger and rings devoured long ago. He’d watched her wave off the waitress three times, nursing the original brew while absorbed in the contents of a plain manila folder. Probably the same stuff that got her into trouble in the first place. He didn’t care what was in the folder. It wasn’t his job to figure out what the trouble was. Nope, his job was simple—
stop the trouble.

He waited for her to get out the door, and then he left the three dimes and a quarter for a tip, pocketed the bullet and nail clippers and followed.

Washington, D.C.

Jason offered to buy her another glass of wine. She let him. Kendall Jackson. Chardonnay, not cheap, but not pretentious. He filed that tidbit away. He ordered himself another Jack and Coke, but left one half-full on the bar when they moved to a small booth in the corner. More than ever he needed to keep a clear head.

When he admitted he’d never met her staffer, Lindy, Senator Malone offered an introduction. From somewhere he’d been able to pull out enough charm to decline by saying he’d much rather talk to her. That’s when he asked if he could buy her another wine. She floored him. He didn’t expect her to say yes. Now he wasn’t sure what to do. She obviously didn’t know who he was, but how the hell could he pull off pretending not to know who she was? He had seen her in the halls of Congress. As a staffer he had been invisible to her. But after tonight she’d start to see him.

“I’m Jason Brill,” he decided to tell her straight out and extended his hand. He smiled, as if a formal introduction was called for, but then held her hand long enough to relay that it certainly wasn’t all he intended.

“I’m—”

“Senator Shirley Malone,” he cut her off. “Senior Republican from the great state—a red state—of Indiana.”

“Now I remember you. You work for John.”

He didn’t even try to hide his surprise.

“From the other side of the aisle,” she continued, but she was smiling. “An enemy?” And she arched a graceful eyebrow as she sipped her wine.

“Enemy?” He feigned his best hurt look, even throwing back his head a little, pretending to take her sucker punch in the jaw. “No, not an enemy. Let’s say an admirer.”

“Oh, really?”

Too much sarcasm and Jason was worried he’d laid it on way too thick, but they were playing with each other, weren’t they? Maybe he needed to sit back and let her set the rules.

“Yes, really,” he said, his mind flipping through stored data, trying to access and retrieve information. “I thought you did an excellent job chairing the commission on federal disaster relief for last summer. You were objective and fair in spite of the fact that Indiana suffered through fifteen tornadoes last year.”

She met Jason’s eyes over the rim of her wineglass as she took another sip.
Was it too much?

“Sixteen,” she said with another smile.

And Jason felt the surge of adrenaline like he had just sunk a three-pointer from half court. He was better at this than he thought. He’d have to thank his uncle Louie, who had taught Jason the art of bullshit at a very young age.

“Go tell your aunt I said how pretty she looks with that new hairdo.” Jason remembered that one was worth a buck to him, but Uncle Louie probably got laid.

Senator Malone sat back in the booth obviously more relaxed and, more important, comfortable with him now.

Jason sipped his Jack and Coke, trying to retrieve other data. In this dim light she looked younger, softer, and actually pretty. Learn your enemy’s weaknesses, but also what they care most about. Discover someone’s passion and usually you can discover that person’s greatest vulnerability. Or as Uncle Louie would say, “Figure out what a guy gives a shit about. Take it away or just pretend to and you’ll have that guy on his knees, beggin’ and crying for his momma.”

Jason didn’t exactly want Senator Shirley Malone on her knees, begging. Or did he? Jesus! He shook the sexual innuendo out of his head. It’d been too long, way too long.

Then without warning she leaned forward almost as if she had read his mind. “So what’s a smart, good-looking guy like you doing working for John Quincy?”

He may be able to get an invitation to her suite if he played his cards right. Unlike other senators who bought extravagant homes or condos in D.C.’s finest neighborhoods, Jason knew Senator Malone simply rented a suite at the Mayflower. Rumor had it her room service was always just for one. But she was definitely flirting with him and he used to be good at this. That she was older, classier, way out of his league should have made the challenge all the more appealing.

Yet his attraction to her unnerved him. He wasn’t quite sure he understood it. He liked her. He hadn’t expected to like her. Somehow it made the game unbalanced, not fair, his weakness exposed when he was supposed to expose hers.

After about an hour of what he could have called mental foreplay, he offered to walk her to her car even though her driver was out front waiting. Then he watched her get in, still smiling at him as she waved goodbye.

He decided to walk back to his place. The night air felt cool for June. Maybe in the morning he’d be kicking himself. But for now if he wanted to manipulate the Appropriations Committee vote, he decided he’d need to take another look at Senator Max Holden’s gay boy, Zach.

He hadn’t gotten far when he heard his name being called. Jason turned to find the birthday girl, Lindy, running to catch up with him.

Washington, D.C.

Jason offered to buy her another glass of wine. She let him. Kendall Jackson. Chardonnay, not cheap, but not pretentious. He filed that tidbit away. He ordered himself another Jack and Coke, but left one half-full on the bar when they moved to a small booth in the corner. More than ever he needed to keep a clear head.

When he admitted he’d never met her staffer, Lindy, Senator Malone offered an introduction. From somewhere he’d been able to pull out enough charm to decline by saying he’d much rather talk to her. That’s when he asked if he could buy her another wine. She floored him. He didn’t expect her to say yes. Now he wasn’t sure what to do. She obviously didn’t know who he was, but how the hell could he pull off pretending not to know who she was? He had seen her in the halls of Congress. As a staffer he had been invisible to her. But after tonight she’d start to see him.

“I’m Jason Brill,” he decided to tell her straight out and extended his hand. He smiled, as if a formal introduction was called for, but then held her hand long enough to relay that it certainly wasn’t all he intended.

“I’m—”

“Senator Shirley Malone,” he cut her off. “Senior Republican from the great state—a red state—of Indiana.”

“Now I remember you. You work for John.”

He didn’t even try to hide his surprise.

“From the other side of the aisle,” she continued, but she was smiling. “An enemy?” And she arched a graceful eyebrow as she sipped her wine.

“Enemy?” He feigned his best hurt look, even throwing back his head a little, pretending to take her sucker punch in the jaw. “No, not an enemy. Let’s say an admirer.”

“Oh, really?”

Too much sarcasm and Jason was worried he’d laid it on way too thick, but they were playing with each other, weren’t they? Maybe he needed to sit back and let her set the rules.

“Yes, really,” he said, his mind flipping through stored data, trying to access and retrieve information. “I thought you did an excellent job chairing the commission on federal disaster relief for last summer. You were objective and fair in spite of the fact that Indiana suffered through fifteen tornadoes last year.”

She met Jason’s eyes over the rim of her wineglass as she took another sip.
Was it too much?

“Sixteen,” she said with another smile.

And Jason felt the surge of adrenaline like he had just sunk a three-pointer from half court. He was better at this than he thought. He’d have to thank his uncle Louie, who had taught Jason the art of bullshit at a very young age.

“Go tell your aunt I said how pretty she looks with that new hairdo.” Jason remembered that one was worth a buck to him, but Uncle Louie probably got laid.

Senator Malone sat back in the booth obviously more relaxed and, more important, comfortable with him now.

Jason sipped his Jack and Coke, trying to retrieve other data. In this dim light she looked younger, softer, and actually pretty. Learn your enemy’s weaknesses, but also what they care most about. Discover someone’s passion and usually you can discover that person’s greatest vulnerability. Or as Uncle Louie would say, “Figure out what a guy gives a shit about. Take it away or just pretend to and you’ll have that guy on his knees, beggin’ and crying for his momma.”

Jason didn’t exactly want Senator Shirley Malone on her knees, begging. Or did he? Jesus! He shook the sexual innuendo out of his head. It’d been too long, way too long.

Then without warning she leaned forward almost as if she had read his mind. “So what’s a smart, good-looking guy like you doing working for John Quincy?”

He may be able to get an invitation to her suite if he played his cards right. Unlike other senators who bought extravagant homes or condos in D.C.’s finest neighborhoods, Jason knew Senator Malone simply rented a suite at the Mayflower. Rumor had it her room service was always just for one. But she was definitely flirting with him and he used to be good at this. That she was older, classier, way out of his league should have made the challenge all the more appealing.

Yet his attraction to her unnerved him. He wasn’t quite sure he understood it. He liked her. He hadn’t expected to like her. Somehow it made the game unbalanced, not fair, his weakness exposed when he was supposed to expose hers.

After about an hour of what he could have called mental foreplay, he offered to walk her to her car even though her driver was out front waiting. Then he watched her get in, still smiling at him as she waved goodbye.

He decided to walk back to his place. The night air felt cool for June. Maybe in the morning he’d be kicking himself. But for now if he wanted to manipulate the Appropriations Committee vote, he decided he’d need to take another look at Senator Max Holden’s gay boy, Zach.

He hadn’t gotten far when he heard his name being called. Jason turned to find the birthday girl, Lindy, running to catch up with him.