William Bernhardt - Capitol Threat

Ben paused. His lips were so dry they were splitting. He knew he needed to wrap this up; he was amazed Keyes had let him go on so long without trying to shut him down. But he had one last thing he needed to say. One last chance to remind them of something they already knew.

“Thaddeus Roush is a good man,” he continued. “All of you know it. That’s why he’s here. That’s why the President nominated him in the first place. He’s smart, he’s hardworking, and he’s fair. He’s a reasonable man. He is exactly what we need on the Supreme Court. That’s what matters. So we’re not going to make any more speeches. We’re not going to call any more witnesses. There’s no point. You know what you need to know. It’s time to vote. Just remember this one fact—”

Ben made eye contact with every one of them in turn, then continued. “America is watching to see if you’ll do the right thing. Please don’t disappoint them.”

37

“Aw hell,” Loving grumbled. “You didn’t tell me it was a strip club.”

“What did you think it was going to be?” Trudy replied. “A sewing circle?”

“You said it was a redneck joint. You never said—aw hell.” He stared up at the large neon sign flashing the name of the club: ACTION. Presumably because if you got inside, you were either going to see some or get some.

“So what’s the problem, big boy? Never been to a strip joint before?”

“All too often.”

“Bet you’ve never been to one like this. Fifty of the best-looking women you’ll ever meet in your life. And very discreet. They have to be: some of their clients are members of Congress.”

“You’re kiddin’.”

“I’m not. And lobbyists. Lobbyists love this place.”

“They come here to rub shoulders with politicians?”

“Well, they come here to get something rubbed.” Trudy winked. “Let’s go watch Your Government in Action.”

Loving scanned the considerable line of patrons waiting to get inside. “Looks like there could be a wait.”

“More than a wait, sugar. Dressed the way you are, you’ll never get in.”

“Hey, I put on this fruity shirt you gave me. What do you—”

“Don’t get your butt in a swither. I can get us in.” Trudy extended an elbow. “Escort me, baby.”

“I am not going to…to…have you hangin’ on my arm.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re—you know!”

“Yeah, I know, and you know, but they don’t know. At least not most of them. Do you want to get in or not?”

Loving sighed heavily. “Hell.” He raised his arm as if it weighed a thousand pounds and reluctantly offered an elbow.

“Thanks. You’ve got big biceps, sugar.”

“Don’t call me ‘sugar’!”

They walked toward the front of the line, ignoring the more than one hundred people waiting. “How much money you got on you, plum cake?”

“Don’t—” He sucked in his breath. “About five hundred bucks. More than enough.”

“More than enough? Here? We’ll blow through that in an hour.” She shook her head. “I just hope that’s long enough.”

Trudy approached the gatekeeper, a burly bodybuilder with a shaved head and muscles that made Mr. Clean look like a ninety-pound weakling. “Hey, Bones.”

He tipped a finger in a small salute. “Good to see you, Trudy.”

“Boss wants to see me.”

“Then step right in,” he said, but Loving noticed he didn’t move.

“Any time now,” Trudy whispered in his ear.

“Any time now what?”

“Pay the man.”

“For what?”

“To get in.”

“There’s a cover charge?”

“No, there’s a get-the-gigantic-traffic-control-bruiser-out-of-the-way charge.”

Loving muttered again, then grabbed his wallet and offered a five.

“Don’t be absurd.” Trudy reached into his wallet and pulled out a fifty, then handed it to the gatekeeper. “Sorry for the delay.”

He nodded graciously and let them pass.

“Fifty dollars to get a seat in a strip club?”

“Fifty dollars to get in. A seat would cost you another fifty.”

Loving slapped his head in disgust and followed Trudy’s lead. He was immediately immersed in more or less everything he hated most in life. Relentless pounding noise—he supposed they called it music—playing so loud he could barely hear himself think, all electronic synthetic technocrap. Colored lights swirled back and forth across the club so fast it made him dizzy. The crowd was worse than Disneyland on a Saturday afternoon; every step forward required aggressive action. The people were generally well dressed—well, the men, anyway. Most of the women were barely dressed at all. Unlike most strip joints he’d visited, there was no stage, no artificial dividing line separating the patrons from the professionals. The dancers were working on the floor, often surrounded by a cluster of men barely a foot away.

“Isn’t that kinda dangerous?” Loving asked.

“How do you mean?”

“Lettin’ those droolin’ idiots get so close to the girls. Eventually one of ’em’s gonna get drunk enough to try to reach out and touch.”

Trudy smiled. “Not to worry. This place has more bouncers than the Senate. No one gets away with anything in here.”

Loving shoved his way past a group of gagglers surrounding a tall blond woman writhing on the floor in a hot pink sequined bikini. “It’s nice to know management cares about its key employees.”

“They don’t. It’s all dollars and cents. They want to attract the best customers, and that requires them to have the best girls. You don’t get the best girls if you can’t take care of them. That’s all a girl really wants, you know.” Trudy snuggled closer and laid a soft head on Loving’s shoulder. “A strong man to take care of her.”

“Would you stop that!” Loving pushed forward into the crowd. “So where is this Renny, anyway?”

“I can’t be sure. But he’s usually in the back room.”

“Of course. There’s always a back room. And let me guess. Not just anyone can get in.”

Trudy touched Loving’s nose. “Ding, ding, ding.”

“So what do I have to do to get in? Say the secret word? Beat up a squad of bodyguards? Solve the riddle of the Sphinx?”

“I’ll show you.”

Trudy blazed a trail through the jam-packed club. In many respects, the place was like a casino. There were no windows, no clocks, nothing to remind anyone of how late it was or how long they’d been there. He wondered if they pumped oxygen into the room to keep everyone a little high. Happy people bought more drinks. And whatever other luxury items the place had to offer.

Loving veered left to avoid a fight in progress, then almost tumbled over a dancer giving a guy a hand job. A guy Loving thought he’d spotted on the Senate floor, but he was too repulsed to look for long. He tripped and fell to the floor, and the minute he pulled himself up, he came nearly nose-to-butt with some dancer’s naked buttocks. As he steadied himself and scanned the room, Loving wondered if there had been this many women taking off their clothes in a confined area since the court of Caligula.

“That dancer back there,” Loving said. He was shouting, but given the general din, he could barely hear himself. “She was toasted.”

“You could tell that from staring at her ass?”

“No, her eyes.”

“Well, that’s hardly unusual. Even in a high-class joint like this one, most of the girls do a few shots or maybe a line of coke before they plunge into action. It’s a tough job. They need something to…distance themselves.”

“Seems like management would put a stop to that.”

“To the contrary. As long as they don’t overdo it, management likes the girls to be a little looped. Loosens them up. Makes them much more likely to tolerate a little pinching or other inappropriate touching. Accidentally brushing your boobies against some drooling politico’s face. That sort of thing.”