Free Lou Mason Mystery - 02 - The Last Witness by Joel Goldman Page B

annual meeting. During the question-and-answer session, she would ask the CEO if he preferred that she just file a class-action lawsuit against the company since he was obviously too busy to return her phone calls.
    She was seated when Mason arrived for lunch, her heavy winter coat draped across an empty chair. It was dark olive, impervious to nature’s elements, and looked as if it were designed for a Prussian Cossack, a sharp contrast to his navy pinstripe suit, white shirt, and red-and-navy-striped tie.
    “You look like you’re dressed for a job interview,” she told him as he sat down.
    “Interview, not job interview. I need to talk to the mayor about Jack Cullan. His staff won’t work me into his schedule, so I’m going to work him into mine.”
    “When God said let there be light, he didn’t mean Billy Sunshine.”
    “Not one of your favorite politicians?”
    “Favorite politician is an oxymoron. Billy Sunshine has the distinction of being both an oxymoron and a regular moron.”
    “I take it you didn’t vote for him.”
    “To the contrary. The politicians that disappoint me the most are the ones I vote for. I always feel like a sucker afterward. Billy Sunshine was smart, charismatic, and wanted to do all the right things for the right reasons. Revitalize downtown, pump private investment into the East Side and fix the potholes on every street, not just the mayor’s. He wanted to unite the people who lived north of the river with the people who lived south of Seventy-Fifth Street, neither of whom believed they lived in the same city. He wanted the Hispanics on the West Side to have a bigger role in city government since they were the fastest-growing minority in the city. He wanted to pull the public schools out of the black hole the school board had thrown them into.”
    “And you’re disappointed he didn’t do all of that?”
    “Don’t be cute. Half that stuff is impossible and the rest is just too hard for mere mortals. That’s not the point. He made the promises, got the job, and sold out quicker than a whore on Saturday night.”
    “Sold out to whom?”
    “Anybody with the price of a vote or a sweetheart deal or a zoning variance or whatever else a big campaign contributor was shopping for.”
    “Are you saying he took bribes?”
    “Maybe. Probably not cash in a brown paper bag. It’s usually not done that way. It’s more often money that gets funneled to friends or family who get hired by somebody as a favor to somebody who wants a favor, that kind of thing. The mayor ends up with friends who owe him favors and pay him back with big campaign contributions or hidden interests in deals.”
    “How do you know all this and why isn’t it on the front page of the newspaper?”
    “I know it because I represent the people who get screwed in these deals. The business owner whose building gets condemned for some new high-rise, or the schoolchildren who can’t read by the time they’re in the eighth grade but are smart enough to figure out how to shoplift, sell dope, and get knocked up. And it’s not in the newspaper because everyone knows it and no one can prove it.”
    “Rachel Firestone thinks she can, at least on the Dream Casino.”
    Claire studied Mason over her half-glasses. “Since you’re short on time, get the lentil soup. They serve it in a bread bowl. It’s perfect for a cold day. You probably skipped breakfast, so you need something hearty.”
    Mason smiled at his aunt, surprised that she had dodged the subject of the Dream Casino. She never pretended to replace his mother after her death, though she loved him as well as any parent could have and still worried about him.
    “I know you didn’t invite me to lunch to make sure I’m eating right. I figured you wanted to talk about Jack Cullan’s murder, not local politics.”
    “Good for you. No beating around the bush.”
    Their server interrupted them with a laconic rendition of the daily specials. They ordered the lentil