Free Hot Ticket by Janice Weber

in the neck, she could only watch that tampon go down her throat.” A moment of black static.
     “Bastards.”
    “I’ve got one last concert Saturday night,” I said. No big deal. Just Carnegie Hall. “Then I’ll go to Belize.”
    “Barnard left some surveillance gear behind. You might pick it up while you’re down there.”
    “She left it behind?”
    “Just get it back,” Maxine said wearily. “Everything’s on the map in your kit.”
    My kit was burning a hole in a locker at the Miami airport. I turned off the lights and headed into the woods. Whatever Barnard
     had left in the jungle, it was more than a camera.

Chapter Four
    I HAD STRIPPED and was about to step into the shower when the phone rang. “Hello, Leslie.” Marvel sounded agitated, as if he had been calling
     for hours. “I’d like to see you.”
    Shit!
“When would be good, sir?”
    “Now. A car’s on its way.” He hung up.
    Sixty seconds wet, another sixty yanking on clothes. No time for underwear. I painted the face, blew on a little scent. Just
     as I hit the revolving doors, a Lexus pulled up to the hotel. Chauffeur nodded, I got in. No president in the backseat. No
     surprise: he’d be the soul of discretion until his reelection. The car sailed past the White House. “Where are we going?”
     I asked.
    “Out of town.” He joined the Beltway herd. “Sit back and relax.”
    City lights eventually faded, as did traffic. Without a word, we headed deep into Virginia. I had been here on the Harley
     just the other day, trying to forget about Barnard; now I was rushing into her lover’s embrace. I hoped Bobby hadn’t invited
     me out here to take a bubble bath. Maybe he wanted to ask a few more questions about the only woman who had ever dumped him.
     Ah, Barnard. Why had she lured him into that bathtub? And who had the original video? Were it with a friend, Bobby would probably
     have seen it by now. Foe? He’d have no idea.
    Eventually the Lexus turned onto an unmarked dirt road. Pine branches swished at the doors as darkness engulfed us. Many bumps,
     one last swerve before a guard with walkie-talkie and submachine gun blocked our path. He checked the driver’s ID, asked me
     to step out for a modest pat-down. That done, he unchained the gate. Bobby’s discretion now verged on the paranoid: I liked
     that.
    The president, plus cigar, waited on the porch of a spacious old house. Since our chat in his limousine, he had changed into
     khakis and sport shirt. I stood next to him a moment inhaling smoke and cologne, running my eyes only once over the hair on
     his chest. Now that Marvel had put aside the presidential act and reverted to his natural state, stag in heat, he seemed much
     more dangerous than he had a few hours ago. “Thanks for coming.” He peered at my face in the dim light. “Can I get you something?”
    Gin and a chastity belt. While he was inside, I looked around the yard for Secret Service agents. Exceptionally well hidden,
     wherever they were. Maybe in the trees. Over the past three years Marvel had probably asked them to get lost so many times
     that invisibility was a job requirement now. As the president returned to the porch, he motioned to a swing in the corner.
     “You were out tonight,” he said, serving me.
    Zoo. “Rehearsal. I have a concert in New York this weekend.”
    Bobby smiled insipidly. “Ah. Will you be seeing Polly?”
    “You never know.”
    Chains creaked as the swing moved in tandem with our breathing. “Where did you meet her?” he asked.
    “On a beach in France. She was with a Hungarian count.” I had been buffing this story for the last hour. “I next met her in
     Paris. She was with an Italian from one of the sports car families. Our paths have crossed a lot since then. She was always
     with a different man.” I swallowed gin. “If it’s any consolation, you’re her first American. Where did
you
meet her?”
    “At a fund-raiser. She was with Fausto Kiss. A different sort