Washington Horror Blog

SEMI-FICTIONAL CHRONICLE of the EVIL THAT INFECTS WASHINGTON, D.C. To read Prologue and Character Guide, please see www.washingtonhorrorblog.com, updated 6/6//2017. Follow Washington Water Woman on Twitter @HorrorDC ....

Saturday, November 04, 2017

Pretend I didn't say that!

British agents Nigel ("Prickly") Blackthorne and Richard ("The Third") Mollington were on their way to pick up Chloe Cleavage and drop her off again at Trump International Hotel.

"How much longer do you think she'll keep doing this?" asked The Third, smoothing the fake Uber and Lyft decals stuck to the passenger window.

"Well, Charles Wu is paying her handsomely, I believe, and she did say she was in love with Sergei."

"You know that's not a good thing, right?" replied The Third.

"I still can't believe George Papadopoulos was wearing a wire for the FBI!" snickered Prickly.  "Wu's got camera footage of him in the damned Russia Suite!"

"We're gonna nab these bloody bastards, eh?!"

"Speaking of that," said Prickly, "we can't keep putting off Chloe about the sex trafficking thing."

"We got a couple of those girls out!" retorted The Third, defensively.  "It's a delicate balance!"

"I know!  I know!"  Prickly gunned the car through the yellow light.  "You think Chloe's safe going in there today?  I mean, the Russkies must already be nervous after the Manafort indictment."

"Chloe's not wearing a wire!  She's just getting Sergei close to Wu's listening--"

"I know, I know, but if she asks too many questions and they do start frisking her for a wire, she could really freak out.  She's no pro!  We haven't given her enough training!"

"That's not our fault," responded The Third.  "She's a bloody staff attorney at Prince and Prowling and only gets one week's vacation a year?"

"How do we know they haven't already torn up the Russia Suite and found Wu's bugs, eh?" asked Prickly.

"He would tell us."

"Wu's in Asia for the Dotard trip!"

"He would know, and he would tell us, and his bugs just look like bugs, Prickly!  The Russkies would just step on 'em.  There's no way in Hell the Chinese are gonna let Russia get more powerful:  this is Beijing's century."

"Yeah, yeah, and Washington's looking more like Beijing every week."

Across the river, Secretary of Defense James ("Mad Dog") Mattis was in his office making final preparations for his trip to Europe.  "No, no, no," he muttered into the phone, nodding at the assistant bringing him in another file stamped "Top Secret".  He shook his head silently and motioned for the assistant to shut the door on his way out.  "I have discussed that with POTUS, and he understands."  Mad Dog rolled his eyes and reached for his rubber stress ball to squeeze.  "Kelly has assured me Trump understands he's got no bunker in Asia, and if he taunts Kim Jong Un into shooting Air Force One out of the sky, there's a five-percent chance we're swearing in President Pence."  Mad Dog lifted the cover of the new folder, grimaced at it, then closed the folder.  "Look, we need NATO, and it's not helping us that the Niger fiasco did not take into account French intel.  I got troops on every God-damned continent in the world, and I need to make sure somebody's got our backs out there."  He shook his head, leaned back in his chair, and looked up at the ceiling, then leaned forward again.  "Look, I don't wanna hear another damned word about the Russkies!  Who's monitoring their submarines?  ME!  Who's monitoring their communications?  ME!  Who's monitoring their troop movements?  ME!  You think I give a shit about who's buying Oriental rugs or Trump condominiums?  NOT ME!  You point me to the enemy, I'll kill 'em!  I need Congress to reauthorize that MAUF!  Come in!" he barked at the knock on the door.  "I gotta call you back."

Mad Dog hung up the phone and looked up as his assistant opened the door to announce Captain Tyler Glockmann from the Defense Intelligence Agency.  Mad Dog's heart sank, but he nodded and stood up as Glockmann rolled in on his wheelchair and saluted Mattis, who saluted back.  "Please tell me this is the last report, and I can get on the plane."

"It is the last report," said the mole placed at DIA by Condoleezza Rice and the Heurich Society, but I think you better read it before you get on the plane."

Not far away, Prince and Prowling junior partner Bridezilla was arranging new pieces of furniture in her miniature Tudor dream house because her conjoined miniature guinea pigs (Flower Girl and Maid of Honor) had scratched the old furniture up too much.  "I love the velvet fainting couch!" she exclaimed, looking up at her boyfriend, Edward.  "It's so romantic!"

"Actually, I thought you would use that piece upstairs, and put one of the human figurines on it?" asked the man known in spy circles as "Esperantu Edward".

"Oh, no!  It looks so good near the fireplace!"

"Sooo," began Edward, "just like that?  Breadman told you to close the Russia Practice?"

"Just like that!" she cooed, smiling at the twins' rubbing their noses against the soft velvet.  "After all that billing!  Thanks to you, of course!"  She stood up to kiss Edward.  "You found me so many of those clients!"

"Yes," he nodded, "yes, I did.  And, well, my buttercup, some of them are not happy about it."

"I understand--I do!"

"But I thought there were rules about attorneys' dropping clients?" asked Edward.

"Well, you're not supposed to in the middle of a trial--things like that."

"Oh," said Edward, handing her the cherry wood sideboard with a miniature silver tea service tray glued to it.  (He was thinking about the Putin resistance clients who were, in fact, very much in the middle of something when they would meet at the monthly Prince and Prowling Russia Practice receptions.)

"I love it!" exclaimed Bridezilla.

"So much work was put into that practice," muttered Edward.

"It's fine," said Bridezilla, trying to center the sideboard directly under a silver-framed mirror.  "There's plenty of Political Practice work."  (The truth was that she had developed serious concerns her boyfriend was a Russian spy, or a spy on Russians, or a double-agent--and after annulling her first marriage to a secret spy, she really did not want that again.  After all, she had fallen in love with Edward because they shared a passion for miniatures!)  "You know Prince and Prowling management goes whichever way the wind is blowing, and now they've decided the wind is blowing against the Russians.  But they're going to have a lot more trouble backing out of that DOJ deal."

"What DOJ deal?" asked Esperantu Edward (who had been warned by Charles Wu that Bridezilla wouldn't tolerate more espionage in her life).

"Whoops!" laughed Bridezilla.  "Pretend I didn't say that!"

Meanwhile, former Senator Evermore Breadman, a Prince and Prowling Senior Partner, was meeting clandestinely with Attorney General Jefferson Beauregard Sessions in Breadman's limousine, driving down Route 1.

"Are you sure these windows are tinted enough?" asked Sessions.  "I can see the Potomac quite clearly.

"They're actually one-way mirrors, General Sessions," replied Breadman.  "My wife won't rid in this limo because sometimes birds smash right into them."

Sessions frowned.  "And you're sure nobody else has had access in here?"  His eyes were darting around nervously, examining the upholstery.

"I'm the only one with the keys, and I vacuum it out myself.  It's the only exercise I ever get, ha ha!"  He saw the AG was not laughing, and abruptly fell silent.  (Breadman, of course, tape-recorded every conversation he had in this limo, but he had, in fact, answered the question honestly.)

"Look, Evermore, I'm worried about the damned Russia thing!"

"Are you?" Breadman asked, feigning surprise.

"There's a lot of chatter about those Mueller indictments, and the kid turning state's evidence, and some people are even saying that I was set up for perjury!"

"That's outrageous!" exclaimed Breadman, trying to look sincere.

"Exactly!" cried Sessions.  "I need to know I can count on your firm to help me out if things get sticky for me!"

"Hm," said Breadman, pretending he was contemplating this for the first time.  "Well, General, the firm's of-counsel arrangement with Justice encompasses lawsuits you have to defend which were filed against Donald Trump and his Cabinet, and, as you know, we have been quite busy with those!"  Breadman attempted another smile and chuckle, but Sessions was having none of it.

"I thought I could count on you, Evermore!"

"Look, absolutely, anything we can do, General, but I wouldn't feel right taking on that sort of thing because, well, you need a top-notch criminal defense attorney."

"I am not a criminal!" screamed the Attorney General.

"Of course not, General Sessions, of course not!  But if that has to be proven in a court of law, well, we have no experience fighting perjury charges."

"Charges?!  Plural?!"  Sessions started hyper-ventilating.

"Now, now, General, I can recommend some terrific attorneys for you!"

"I need somebody I can trust!"

"Absolutely!" replied Breadman.

"Not some namby-pamby who's gonna be forced by Mueller into breaking attorney-client privilege!  God, I hate him so much!"

"Sure, not a namby-pamby," responded Breadman.  "Only the best!"

"And no Jews!" added Sessions.  "Kushner's the one they need to be kicking to the curb, not me!"  Sessions looked past Breadman out the other window as they passed a billboard proclaiming Virginia gubernatorial candidate Ralph Northam bragged about restoring voting rights to child molesters.  "Damned straight!" he cried, pointing at the billboard for Breadman to turn around and look at.  "Now, that's a criminal!"

"You don't think convicts should get their vote back after they serve their time?" asked Breadman, trying not to picture Sessions pushing a mop in a federal penitentiary.

Out in the river, Ardua of the Potomac slithered along at 60 miles/hour enjoying every minute of the conversation.

COMING UP:    Blechs, lies, and videotape!
                               (The Senate's tax plan!)


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