Roger Stelljes - The St. Paul Conspiracy

The senator managed to fly beneath the media radar long enough to get away to his cabin on Cedar Lake, an hour west of the Twin Cities. It was a large A-frame cabin that had four bedrooms on the main level and a loft that slept six more. It had been his parents’ place, and, since he was an only child, he had inherited it upon their deaths. He had arranged to have it stocked with food and drink at all times. Upon his arrival, he went immediately to the liquor cabinet and found an unopened bottle of tequila. He was going to get drunk, plain and simple. Tomorrow, Lyman and his crew were going to come out and start discussing defense strategy. They would be there at 10:00 a.m., but for tonight, he was going to take the bottle of tequila, watch television and drink his problems away.

He grabbed a glass from the cupboard and the ice bucket from the counter. He filled the bucket with ice, headed for the couch, sat down and poured a drink. He knocked it back and poured himself another and put that one down as well before grabbing some ice and pouring a drink for sipping.

A classic movie was in order, and he grabbed the remote. A little channel surfing struck pay dirt. To Catch a Thief was on, a Hitchcock classic with Cary Grant and the hypnotically beautiful Grace Kelly. An appropriate movie, he thought, since it was about a man framed for a crime he did not commit. His feet up on the coffee table, he leaned back on the couch and took a long drink from his glass.

Mac and Sally slept for a couple of hours until the sound of the furnace kicking in caused her to wake. She snuggled her head on his chest. She felt good, like a woman again. It had been a long time. A year and a half she thought upon reflection. She’d let off a lot of pent-up frustration and pain.

The first time had simply been sex; both of them so horned up, ripping their clothes off, struggling with each other on the bed. The first time was always awkward, she thought. Not that she’d had lots of first times. She had some friends who went through a lot more men than she had, who always said the first time was awkward. Her friends said that if the second time was bad, he was probably no good in bed.

She wasn’t sure she subscribed to that theory, but she didn’t need to worry. The second time, which occurred about fifteen minutes after the first, had been much better. McRyan knew what he was doing; there was no doubt about that. He was an energetic lover. The second orgasm was a result of McRyan bringing her there. She couldn’t help herself when it happened. He’d given her a feeling she hadn’t had in a long time. She smiled inwardly, she felt good, although her breasts were a little sore, and she realized it was probably beard burn. He’d certainly gone for them time and again.

She felt a little shiver and moved her body a little closer to his. He was warm, and she moved her arm slowly up and down his chest, playing with his chest hair. He awoke. She turned her head to him and gave him a soft little kiss. She stroked his face and looked into his dark-blue eyes. They were attractive eyes. “Sorry I woke you.” She didn’t really mean it.

“That’s okay.” He rolled slightly onto his side. “Are you warm enough?”

“I’m fine.”

He leaned down and gave her a little kiss. He lingered there, and she kissed him back, holding the kiss, sweeping with her tongue. She was ready for a third time. She couldn’t remember ever wanting or even going a third time. “You know,” she said as she rolled on top of him, and kissed him a little more deeply, “They say there are three periods in a hockey game.”

“Yes, there are,” he replied, lightly moving his fingers up and down her back.

“Well, we’ve only played two,” she said as she could feel him stiffening beneath her. She kissed him again while reaching back down to slide him in.

“Let’s play hockey.”

Mac woke up and looked at the clock, 8:00 a.m.. The sunlight blazed through the shades of the windows. Normally an early riser, he couldn’t remember the last time he slept in so late. He rolled his naked body slowly to the side of the bed, not wanting to wake Sally.

Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes a little and looked for his boxers. It took a few minutes to find them as their clothes lay everywhere. Finally, he saw them over by the door. Quietly, he pushed himself out of bed, walked over and pulled them on. He grabbed his robe from the hook behind the door.

Looking back at her, she looked wonderful. Her shoulder-length hair falling across her face, the blanket covering only the lower half of her body. The rays of light coming through the shades brushed across her, making her look almost angelic. He tiptoed out of the room and headed for the bathroom, engaged in some morning mechanics and left a new toothbrush out for Sally. Once finished he headed for the kitchen.

He was tired and exhilarated all at the same time. It had been quite a night. His legs felt heavy-sex legs they had called them when he was in college.

He started a pot of coffee and went down the steps to the backdoor to grab the newspaper. The arrest was front-page news, with Mac and Lich pictured above the fold, side by side with a picture of the senator and Hisle. A smaller picture below the fold had Sally and Helen Anderson from their press conference. As he walked back up the steps, he scanned the stories, reading the facts that had already become intimately familiar. Inside the front page, the political wags were frothing at the mouth, discussing all of the possible political ramifications. It was speculated that Senator Johnson would need to resign in the very near future.

By the time Mac wandered back to the kitchen, the coffee was ready. He poured a cup and grabbed the sports page, wanting to see the Gopher hockey score. He had tickets for tonight’s tilt and wondered if Sally would want to go. He wouldn’t need to wait long to ask.

Sally was up and walking down the hall to the bathroom. He heard her laugh, probably at the toothbrush, and heard the water start running. A few minutes later she came walking into the kitchen, wearing his white dress shirt. She’d managed to fasten a button or two, and the shirt hung mid-thigh, revealing her thin, shapely legs.

“Good morning,” he said, handing her a cup of coffee. She leaned up and kissed him, then took the cup.

He handed her the front page, and she went over to the small kitchen table to sit down and read. “We both received front page treatment,” he said, pointing out their pictures. They spent a few quiet minutes reading the paper.

“So,” she said, looking up directly at him, “What are we doing here?”

“Drinking coffee, reading the paper,” he replied, momentarily ducking the question.

“You and me here, buster. Is this a one night gig?”

She was direct, and he rather liked it. It was not a one-nighter. Mac liked her, but he didn’t really know her yet. He wanted to change that. “Well, I thought we could go to breakfast,” he replied.

She smiled. “That’s a start.”

“I have tickets to the Gopher game tonight.”

“St. Cloud State?”

“Yup.”

“I’m game.”

“Well, why don’t we get dressed, I was thinking of the Cleveland Grille.”

“A big, greasy breakfast?”

“I need it, woman, because you wore me out. I haven’t checked the bedroom yet, but I think we embedded the headboard into the wall.”

She smiled, stood up and slowly walked over to him. She pulled the string on his robe, allowing it to fall open. She put her hands around him, burying her head in his chest. They silently held each other for a minute. “Last night felt good,” she said quietly.