Capital Offense

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?”

“I’m getting to that. It’s one of your partners in the software company.”

Edmund saw Mort’s jaw tighten. Even if he couldn’t shoot Carolyn himself, Edmund thought, he could load the gun and hand the weapon to someone else. If he could effectively neutralize Carolyn, then Warner would join the Council and return to his control. Divide and conquer, he thought.