Free Crime Rave by Sezin Koehler Page B

Thirty-four thousand four hundred and eighty-six.
    “How dare you speak to me like that, Mayor ,” Barona spits, enjoying keeping the mayor from what she knows are far more pressing matters. “Without my support you’ll never make it through the next election.” The Countess stares at him. He stares back defiantly.
    “Or do you think you’ll get re-elected on your star power alone?” She sneers, the grimace of an evil stepmother.
    “I’m afraid we will have to continue this another time. I’ve somewhere to be.” The mayor opens his agenda. “Shall we say next Thursday? I’ll take you to lunch.”
    “You’ll do no such thing. We finish this negotiation now or—” a sly look steals into the Countess’s eyes. “Take me with you. I’ve always been curious to see what my millions have funded.”
    Mayor Ellis sighs, knowing he never should have gotten involved with this crazy old bitch. His wife warned him he’d be selling his soul if he took the Countess’s money, and boy was his wife ever right. She’s always right. No wonder he never wants to have sex with her. Well, that’s not entirely true. But he tells himself that anyway. He’s not ready to admit even to himself who he really is. Ellis often worries that someone will catch his thoughts and expose him. Say goodbye to the mayorship then. You can’t run a family values campaign wearing women’s clothes and with a man half your age on your arm. No siree, Bob. Fuck .
    “Countess, you know how much I value and appreciate your support—”
    “Save the spiel, Mayor. You’re going to take me with you. I insist.”
    The Mayor’s had it. No more Mr. Nice Guy. “I’m sorry, Countess Barona, but that will not only be inappropriate. It will be impossible.” The Mayor stands and starts to put on his coat. “We can have lunch another time at your convenience, but for now this conversation is over.”
    The Countess feels a flush rise across her face. The nerve to speak to her this way! She takes a deep breath, composes herself, tamps down her rage. Her voice cool, she says, “How unfortunate. I’m sure the press would love to see the photographs I have of you.” The mayor stops in his tracks. Stares at Barona. “The ones of you doing your very best J. Edgar Hoover impression? Thigh highs and blonde wigs. Tsk tsk. Might I add that you’d be far better as a redhead. Has anyone ever told you that?” The Countess stands and slings her Prada cape over her shoulder. “Have a nice day, Mayor!” Countess Barona singsongs as she moves to walk out the door.
    How the hell does she know? Ellis thinks, furious and frightened. A spy in The Cove. Los Angeles’s most secure bordello my ass! “Wait!” Ellis shouts. Barona pretends not to hear as she sashays down the hall, forcing him to chase after her. He’s gonna get creamed for this. He’ll tell them she’s…Oh screw it, he’ll think of something on the way. “Come on then, Countess. My driver’s waiting out front.”
    A cruel smile steals across the Countess’s face. “You must be joking. Of course I have my own driver. I’ll meet you there.”
    “Suit yourself.” Fucking bitch.
    “So?” Barona looks at him expectantly.
    “So what?” The joy it would give him to pistol-whip her, wipe that smirk off her face.
    “Where is there , Mayor?” Barona’s voice drips with scorn.
    “Oh, that. UCLA Medical Faculty. Wait for me outside.” Mayor Ellis feels desperation trickle down his back in rivulets.
    “Ta ta for now, Mayor,” the Countess trills, swivels and struts out of the Mayor’s office. Ellis, red-faced and furious, sticks his tongue out at her back and flips her a full middle finger.
    “Drive into a median, you old hag.” Ellis pulls from his whiskey flask, pops an Altoid in his mouth and locks up his office, no idea of how he is going to explain all this away. He could just resign. There’s always that option.
    Countess Barona’s Manolos click click across LAPD’s marble foyer in