William Bernhardt - Capitol Threat

It was so close now. So close he could taste it. If he could just survive all this attention. The hotline phone calls in the middle of the night and supposed power brokers wanting to meet in low-key yet public locales, secret files and the impossible need to be on top of everything without appearing to be aware of anything. He had to be above the fray and the master of it simultaneously. Like tiptoeing through a garden of eggshells. But here he was, bearing it all, keeping his head up, making sure that if his chance came— when his chance came—he would be ready. He owed that much to Margaret. And to himself.

To be a justice on the Supreme Court of the United States. To have the ability to quite literally change the world with a stroke of a pen. What wouldn’t someone do for power like that?

40

In general, Loving knew all the fundamentals of successful arm wrestling. What boy who grew up in a small town in Oklahoma didn’t? It was a survival skill. Only here at Action, it appeared that the arm wrestling would get him access, not information. With luck, it might at best get him into the mysterious and salacious back room, where he might be able to wheedle out some information.

Contrary to the popular opinion of arm wrestling, Loving knew that the most important factor was not brute strength, although strength could certainly come in handy. For the push—the offensive action—what mattered was your shoulders and upper back. For the pull—the defensive action—you needed brawny pecs and biceps. Loving worked out regularly and tried to keep his upper body in shape. At his size, the only choices were muscles or flab, and he preferred muscles. He hadn’t been to the gym since he started this investigation, though, and he knew he wasn’t in prime shape.

“Push ahead,” Trudy said, standing behind him, giving him a little shove. “Take on the boy in black.”

“Nah. He’s the champ.”

“You can take him, you imposing hunk of manhood.”

Loving felt his teeth clench. “Don’t talk to me like that,” he subvocalized.

“I’m just saying what’s true. What’s wrong with that, sugar?”

Loving felt his neck stiffening. “Let me start with one of the newbies. I’ll work up.”

“No, take the top dog while you’re fresh. Get us inside that room.”

“I’m not sure I can take him.”

“I am. I’ll be helping.”

“Right. With your”—his voice dripped with sarcasm—“feminine wiles.”

“Don’t underestimate what you don’t understand.”

“I understand that you’re not—”

“Shhhh!” Trudy gave him a harsh look. “Don’t blow our chances before we’ve started. This match is almost over. The boy in black is going to take that redheaded punk down any second.”

“I’m tellin’ you, I don’t think this is smart.”

“That’s because you don’t know your own strength.” Trudy grabbed his biceps and squeezed. “But I do.”

He shrugged Trudy off. “Will you stop that!”

Trudy pouted. “Don’t you like me at all? Even a little?”

Loving’s lips pressed tightly together. “It’s not that I don’t like you…”

Trudy brightened. “Then you do like me!”

“No! I mean—I just don’t go in for…you know. Your kind.”

Trudy’s eyes widened like limpid pools. “I am what I am, Loving. I can’t help it.”

“I know. I just…you…oh, aarrghh! When do we start with the arm wrestling?”

“When you get in line, sugar.”

“Don’t call me—”

“Go.” She pinched his butt. He jumped into line.

Standing next to the Boy in Black’s table, it was easier for Loving to study his technique. He was obviously experienced. He knew that the key secret was to push with the weight of your shoulder, augmented by your back and chest—not your biceps. By leaning into your opponent, you could throw your entire body weight into the struggle. The biceps you held in reserve, using them only if you had to, probably in defense if the match started to get away from you. The Boy in Black knew all this, and it showed in his current battle against a homunculus with a bushy red mullet. The other guy was probably about twice his size, but the Boy in Black was creaming him.

Beating this dude would require Loving to be more than strong. He would have to be smart—not normally what folks considered his strong suit.

Well, if he couldn’t be smart, he could certainly manage tricky.

After he triumphed over the red mullet, the Boy in Black—dressed in a tight short-sleeved black T-shirt and black pants, sort of a Dukes of Hazzard version of Johnny Cash—took a towel from a barely clad beauty and wiped his face and hands. He grabbed the woman around the waist and pulled her close for a smoocheroo.

“You are so hot,” the woman said breathlessly. She wrapped her hands around his muscular abs.

“Cool it, sweetcakes,” he said. “I’m still working.” A thin smile—almost a sneer—emerged. “Can’t let you get me distracted. Women sap a man’s strength.”

Loving tried not to barf. He decided he didn’t like the Boy in Black, which was good. It would make this so much easier.

“Who’s next?”

“He is!” Trudy said, pushing Loving forward.

The Boy in Black gave Trudy a long, hard, very unsubtle look. He was clearly interested. “Wanna sit by me during the match, baby?”

“Sorry,” Trudy said, clutching Loving’s arm. “I’m with him.”

The Boy in Black frowned, then noticed Loving for the first time. “That right? The tramp’s with you?”

“She’s not a tramp. I mean, she’s not—”

“Why settle for a cheap cut when there’s quality meat inside, pal?”

Loving felt his lip curling of its own volition. “That’s no way to talk about a…lady.”

Trudy beamed.

“I think you owe her an apology, chump.”

The Boy in Black was not intimidated. “Uh-huh. And who exactly is going to make me?”

“Boys, boys, boys,” Trudy said, squeezing between them. “We don’t want any violence. Let’s settle this on the arm-wrestling table.” She turned to Loving and winked. “My hero.”

The Boy in Black sneered. “You think this big lug can take me?”

Trudy’s chin rose. “I think he’ll mop the floor with you.”

“Well, then, let’s get to it.” He stepped up to Loving, sneering. “Haven’t seen you here before.”

“Haven’t been here before,” Loving replied.

“Sure you want to start with me? Be a lot easier to work your way up through the bottom-feeders.”

Exactly the same opinion Loving had expressed a few moments earlier. But now that he had heard this obnoxious jerk say it, he was determined not to do it.

“I’m in a hurry to get inside,” Loving said simply.

“But no one wants you inside.”

“After that cover charge I paid at the door, I don’t much care whether anyone wants me or not. I’m goin’ in.”

“But this room you have to earn, bozo. That’s why they put me in as the gatekeeper.” He grinned, revealing an unpleasant display of poorly cared-for teeth.

If his experience had taught Loving anything, it was that the best weapon against bravado was its polar opposite. He made a strategic about-face. “Well,” he said, shuffling his feet slightly, “you’ll probably humiliate me.”

“He will not!” Trudy insisted.

“But I gotta try,” Loving added sheepishly.

The Boy in Black commiserated. “I understand. Hell of a thing, being pussy-whipped in public.”

Loving managed to keep a straight face.

The Boy in Black gave Trudy one more lascivious look. “Last chance to sit with the champ.”

“No thanks,” she replied, grabbing Loving’s arm. “I told you already. I’m with him.”