Jeff finds
himself in Washington DC on business trying to close a big deal for his company
where he meets up with Nancy again, the FBI agent he had fallen in love with in
Atlanta nearly two years ago. Jeff is separated from his wife because of Nancy’s letter. Jeff continues to attract
women without trying, some of them with deadly intentions. Jeff and Nancy soon
find themselves in the center of intrigue with Israelis and Iranians feeling
threatened by the impending deal, determined to kill the deal at any cost―even at the cost of Jeff’s life! The surprising twists will make
the reader gasp, the love scenes will make the reader sigh.
Chapter 1 of K Street
...
Jeff lands in DC and is about to meet somebody very surprising!
Thursday, 6:21 PM: A Voice from the Past
Jeff lands in Washington DC.
On the way to the hotel he passes Archies, a well-known strip club on K Street that makes
him reminisce his adventures in Atlanta
over a year ago. When he gets to the hotel he decides to go down to a singles
mixer where he meets a beautiful woman named Kathy, but neither takes any
interest. Suddenly he hears a woman's voice, "Good evening
congressman."
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Thanks for taking time, and enjoy!
- Chris Lamela
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Author contact: Chris Lamela, chris@chrislamela.com, 707-566-8790 PST
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K Street, Chapter 1
Thursday, 6:21
PM: A Voice from the Past
The aircraft hit an air pocket “WHOOOOOOOA!” passengers screamed cups
and ice and soda cans and little liquor bottles levitated slowly into the air
along with unbelted passengers ascending helplessly toward the overhead bins
legs kicking arms flailing the flight attendant holding tightly onto seat backs
her legs raised into the air behind her―with a start the 757 caught its grip
again every flying object shooting from the air downward passengers projected back
into seats over seats hands raised over heads in fright the flight attendant to
her knees in the isle hands still clasped onto seat backs with a thankful grin.
She stood looking around her, pulled at her coat, in dignified fashion stepping
backward to pick up her microphone. “We are approaching Reagan National
Airport. The Captain has
turned on the fasten seatbelt sign. Maybe a minute too late.” She gave a small
chuckle pausing to catch her breath, still-confused passengers not hearing a
word. “At this time we ask that you put your seatbacks and tray tables upright
and in the locked position as we prepare for our landing and we continue to
collect the last of your cups and other items,” she grinned looking down at the
isle littered with cups and other items. “We will be on the ground shortly.”
Yes, this is why frequent flyers
always wear our seatbelts Jeff thought to himself, brushing apple juice
from his jacket sleeve.
Jeff looked out the window from seat 3A seeing the Washington Monument clearly,
casting its long shadow toward the east, the plane flying down the center of
the Potomac to begin its right bank toward the airport. He leaned looking down
to see the back of the Lincoln Memorial, the big dome of the Capitol Building
in the distance, a few seconds later glimpsing the Jefferson Memorial
disappearing behind them, the plane tilting for the final approach.
Before long Jeff was standing at the taxi stand with a big piece of
luggage, his computer case over his shoulder. The taxi-stand line was
mercifully short, soon he was sitting in a back seat, the driver asking his
destination, “Hilton on Connecticut.”
The driver nodded pulling away from the curb.
In only a few minutes they were heading across the bridge into DC. It
was still late afternoon approaching early evening, it was a nice warm March
day, just a few fluffy clouds floating by, spring definitely in the air. He
rolled the window down to enjoy the fresh air.
There was chatter on the driver’s radio that Jeff didn’t pay any
attention to, the driver picking up the mic talking back and forth with his
dispatcher.
The driver looked over his shoulder, “Sorry sir, but there’s some kind
of demonstration on the mall, we may get held up, will that be okay? There’s
not really any good ways around it.”
Jeff leaned forward asking how
bad, the driver said maybe only a few minutes because of people crossing the street
but that the street was open. Jeff said that would be fine.
When they got to the Capitol Mall there were throngs of people milling
around, hoards crossing every which way, some just hanging out in the middle of
the street like they had nothing better to do. Mounted police soon came up, the
car inched its way through the crowd, cops and horses towering over them. Jeff
read some of the placards, something to do with the missile crises on the
Straights of Taiwan, a squabble with China. There were lots of signs,
chanting, people came up to the cab trying to hand leaflets, the cab driver
waved them off, the taxi making its way slowly through the swirl of bodies.
Jeff was half-interested in the topic, but he was so tired out by the flight
from Seattle, just
wanted to get to his hotel.
The taxi continued up 14th
Street taking a left on K Street. Jeff looked around smiling that
already the strip bars of K Street
were lit up in the buildings’ shadows of the approaching evening. They were
stopped at a light. Jeff saw a group of Japanese businessmen already converging
on one of the clubs. He smiled knowing that after his adventures in Atlanta at Magic
Town that he would never
go into another strip club for the rest of his life.
Maybe for the next three lives just to make sure.
Jeff leaned back. Suddenly the memories of Atlanta eighteen months ago washed over him.
He could picture it like it all happened yesterday.
For some reason his first memory flashed to the moment Nancy climbed
into the shower with him, the first time they touched each other naked, how
they kissed so passionately naked bodies touching in that shower, he caressing
her sweet tender place, slowly reaching up into her sweet darkness, they kissed
so deeply, so longingly―her sudden freaking out, jumping from the shower, their
long soulful talk so full of promises of love. His angst at being married, at
having that all happening to him. The possibility of falling in love with
another woman.
He remembered how that whole adventure started with Pick, the affable
black man who intercepted him at the ATM next to Ricky Rocket’s in the Atlanta
Underground, then taking him on a tour of the Underground with Jeff buying him dinner
and lots and lots of drinks, Jeff leaving exorbitant tips at each stop with
Pick’s demanding encouragement. A smile came to Jeff, he thought about ending
up with him at the Magic Town club in south Atlanta, the room filled with
screaming black men, strippers coming out doing their thing, the whole time him
being told by Pick to pull more and more money out for tips and to feed the
strippers’ underwear.
Then there was the white woman who appeared on the runway, he remembered
how the two of them looked like glowing bonfires in the middle of all those howling
dark faces. He remembered her wonderful slim curvy body, her breasts that
weren’t like the other dancers’ huge orbs of bouncing flesh, how hers more
jiggled than swayed with those petit nipples, how the men all howled when her
bikini bottom finally fell away, SHE’S
NOT A BLONDE! How she kept staring down at him from the runway, her words WHY ARE YOU HERE? YOU’RE GOING TO SCREW THIS
ALL UP! How he met her downstairs in the hallway with an armed guard at the
door, Jeff sitting in front of the door with the dressing room’s big cardboard gold
star taped to the door. He smiled to himself remembering Shonna coming out,
still remembering the exact moment he saw her beautiful golden eyes with the
tiny black flecks floating among the gold, how she dragged him to that house with
all those people, to that filthy little coffee shop.
Jeff learning that he looked like the fricking twin brother of the crooked congressman, Frank Schedz. How
all the events in Atlanta
came from that tiny coincidence. And he did look like the man, exactly, minus
that small mole on his right chin.
Then the stakeout! A house full of murdered people!
Then there was his little slut, the clerk from the Tallot’s Store he was
at on Friday night.
He looked out the window at the passing scenery sighing wistfully
remembering her standing in his hotel room naked from the bottom of her sweater
to the tops of her boots, suddenly Shonna,
as Nancy’s alias was called, bursting into the room while he was with Jennifer,
him on top of his little naked slut so
close to being inside her, suddenly him standing naked in front of Shonna,
or rather Nancy, she had the other agent eject Jennifer but not before Nancy
found the eight millimeter camera recording his being seduced by his little slut as she became known by
everyone.
Him being put up as an imposter for the congressman! The press
conference where he pretended to be the congressman announcing he was going to
the FBI with names then meeting the gangster Antonio who figured out he was an
imposter by the fake mole on his chin. All the meetings at the house up in Roswell.
Of course he will never forget standing in front of the door of
Antonio’s office shooting five times through the door, the trail of blood down
the hallway, the bloody handprints on the walls.
He frowned, sitting in silence in the cab remembering that he killed a
man.
The little tour that Shonna had taken him on that Sunday night to
confront the crooked city council members and the police chief and the mayor and
all the times he heard the clicking of triggers being pulled back, guns aimed
at him.
He smiled again at his Sherlock Holmes Plan.
The great shoot-out at Magic
Town.
He always felt the same shiver remembering the warehouse, Perkins holding
that gun on them.
His head shook slowly, he sat in the backseat of the taxi remembering
how they set his little slut free after they discovered that she was blackmailing
all those married men, how they gave Pick a pass on whatever his involvement
was. But then how Pick came through for him when the Mayor managed to send the
Janitor to kill Jeff.
But most of all he remembered that night at the Hilton up in Norcross
with Shonna. No. He insisted that he call her by her real name, Nancy. He was instantly
connected to that night with a rush in his chest. He could picture her naked
body, could still detect her aromas on his hands. How they had said they love
each other―how he had said those words to her…I LOVE YOU.
Then there was the letter.
He still understands why Nancy
needed to write it, but he wished that she had written it like he imagined
teen-aged girls do, tearing it up or burning it. But she didn’t, instead it
found a post box.
His wife finding it, somehow connecting all sorts of dots real or
imagined.
Often he found himself lost in thought about what had happened that
crazy weekend with Nancy.
In his heart the jury was still out about whether that wild weekend, all the
feelings he had for her were mere lust or was it more? All he knew was that she
kept saying that he had awakened something in her, that after their time
together she wondered if she had ever been in love. All he knew is that she
awakened passion in him again, made him hungry for it. Made him demand it.
His cell phone rang, he reached into his coat pocket to pull out his
little blue Nokia phone. It was his assistant asking if he made it okay to DC, giving
him a couple messages. He asked her to hold has he rooted around his pockets
for a pen and paper to write them down. Yes, he said, the meeting was set for
tomorrow morning, no he didn’t need anything else. Yes, he knew he had to be in
Boston next Friday,
yes, he would check in tomorrow afternoon. He pressed the disconnect button, sliding
the phone back into his inside coat pocket.
They continued down K
Street, passing Archie’s Club with its standard
neon woman sign, bending over with a glowing come-here smile. Unlike Magic Town,
Archie’s deferred to the sensibilities of downtown Washington DC so the neon
beauty here wasn’t pulling her blouse up and down exposing her huge neon
breasts like she was doing on the Magic Town sign.
He figured out that must be the Japanese businessman’s choice by the twenty
or so standing so orderly waiting to go in. He looked across the street at
another strip club laughing to himself at the way it was mobbed by a whole
other group that wouldn’t ever think of actually standing in a line. “Ah, yes,
the American way,” he shrugged.
Jeff glanced to his right seeing the street sign for Fifteenth Street remembering that’s the
street his meeting is on tomorrow. He couldn’t see any addresses down the
street, couldn’t remember the address for tomorrow anyway.
After turning right on Connecticut
Avenue the cab made it through Dupont Circle, soon approaching the Hilton.
The driver pointed to a wall along the right, like a tall retaining wall saying
that’s where Ronald Regan was shot by John Hinckley, did Jeff remember that, he
said yes that he recognized the wall from the television news. Jeff smiled to
himself that he thought it would be a bad pick-up line to say to a woman, “I
want to be your John Hinkley, you know like for Jody Foster.” Nah, not a good
pick-up line for sure.
They pulled under the big stone awning, the cab came to a rest. The cab
driver hustled around the car opening Jeff’s door, he stepped out. In a minute
his luggage was curb-side with the exchange of a few dollars and a receipt, the
taxi pulled away. A bellman stepped up loading Jeff’s luggage onto a cart,
following him into the lobby.
Jeff walked up to the Gold Honors Member window, handed the nice woman behind the counter
his driver’s license and credit card, in a minute he was handed his key. In
another minute he was walking toward the elevator when he noticed a sign for a
Singles Mixer starting at six. He glanced at his watch seeing that he had a half-hour
before it started, making a note to come down to check it out.
After all, he was single now.
Thank
you, Nancy’s
letter!
The bellman took his key, opened the room door
stepping in ahead of Jeff, neatly arranging the luggage, turned with an expectant
smile, Jeff handing him a five dollar bill with a thanks.
Jeff stepped to the TV, pulled the clicker off the dresser, sitting on
the bed he turned the TV on. After a few minutes of mindless channel flicking,
he turned it off deciding to take a shower.
A minute later he pointed his face into the shower stream making the water
as hot as he could stand. His wife liked the shower so hot that he felt that it
would burn the very skin off him, he had always wondered how she could bear it
so hot. This was hot, though maybe not as hot as her favorite shower. He soaped
up, washed his hair. Without really deciding to do it, he stepped out of the
shower, pulled out a razor and shaving cream from his shaving kit. Stepping
back into the shower he shaved. Somehow he knew he was doing it for the Singles
Mixer downstairs, but refused to admit that’s why he was shaving the second
time today.
Stepping out he dried off, combed his hair leaving it wet like he
usually does, brushed his teeth. He looked into the mirror at his five-ten
frame, opening his eyes wide to make sure they weren’t red, at his hazel eyes
and dark hair that will curl as soon as it dries. He laughed to himself
remembering as a kid during the Ricky
Nelson era how everyone wore their hair greased back. He was only seven
years-old, but wanted to fit in so he would put a half-pound of Dippity Do in his hair only to have the
curls emerge and hour later anyway.
He went for a long-sleeve light-blue polo shirt, tan khaki pants, a gray
and blue weave tweed sport coat. After dressing he pulled everything straight,
standing back inspecting his reflection in the mirror, deciding that he
definitely didn’t look like he had just spent the whole day traveling.
He walked over to the lamp next to the bed turning it on. He hated
getting back to a dark hotel room. Traveling was lonely enough, but somehow
walking into a dark room only worsened his feelings of traveler’s loneliness.
Another minute later he was in the elevator coming down from the seventh
floor. At the fifth floor the elevator stopped, an older couple got in with a
friendly exchange of nods. At the fourth floor the elevator stopped again.
The door opened but there was nobody standing there. The doors started
to close when suddenly, “Wait!” A female hand appeared from the side, the doors
closing. Jeff looked down to the panel in front of him pushing the Door Open button, the doors opened
again. A woman walked into the elevator with a harried look about her, like she
had run from somewhere. She stepped into the elevator without a thanks or even acknowledgement
of others. She stood facing the doors without any attempt to connect in any
fashion.
The elevator descended, Jeff getting a strong whiff of dirty hair from
the woman who just stepped on. She looked to be in her early thirties, maybe, her
uncombed bright blonde hair’s grown-out dark roots were like a picture frame
around her round face. Her shape was what might be called pleasantly plump on
some women, but her unkempt dour demeanor made her plumpness anything but pleasant.
When the elevator doors opened she flew out to the left. Jeff stepped out
watching her barrel down the hallway, turning right, out of sight.
Jeff walked forward into the lobby looking for the sign for the singles
event again seeing that that it was being held in Columbia Hall 9. He walked to
the back of the lobby again, signs pointing various ways, realizing that room
he wanted was in the same direction the woman on the elevator had hustled. Turning
right he followed along the hallway looking at plaques on doors figuring he was
getting closer. Soon he could hear chatty laughing voices ahead, turned a
corner to see people standing in an area in front of an open double-door. There
was an energy in the group telling him this was his destination.
He squeezed between people coming to the reception table where two women
were sitting, Jeff recognized the one from the elevator. “Hi,” he said, “I saw
you on the elevator a minute ago.”
She looked at him blankly, “I don’t remember. You mean just now?”
“Yeah, two minutes ago, you probably don’t remember. I pushed the open-door button for you.”
She feigned concentration for a second, “I don’t remember.”
“Yeah, then…” followed by awkward silence.
He read the poster to the left.
“So is this open to anyone?”
“Only if you’re single.” She glanced at his ring finger, seeing no ring
she nodded. “Ten dollars gets you in. Here,” she reached for a white tag with
the words, Hi, my name is, handing
him a pen. He scribbled Jeff. Reaching into his pocket he dug out a ten-dollar
bill handing it to her.
“Are you local or from out-of-town?” She had a snotty air about her that
Jeff found nauseating. He wanted as little conversation as possible with this
woman.
“Seattle.”
Her frown deepened, “Well, just to warn you, the ladies here are looking
for a relationship, not a one-night stand, so I doubt you’ll do very well here.”
He smiled tolerantly reaching for her pen again, “Well, let’s have full
disclosure then.” He wrote “from Seattle”
under his name on the tag. “There, is
that better?”
Blank stare in response. He noticed her face had a pinched-in look that
reminded him of those dolls cut from apples with their dried up little faces, little
pin eyes. Sometimes he would see them in gift shops wondering what kind of
person would buy them. He imagined some grandmother thinking they would be a
good gift for the granddaughter who would either scream when she unwrapped the
doll or out of politeness grimace a thank you hardly waiting to throw it away
at first chance. This face was even worse with its look like an enormous hand
had reached out pinching her face in around the eyes. No she was not an
attractive woman. He laughed to himself that she was judging how well he would do in there!
Jeff read her paper name tag, “Okay, then, Denise, so what’s the deal in
there?”
She glanced down at her tag obviously unhappy about being addressed by
her name for some reason. “It’s just a mixer like it says,” pointing to the
poster, “I’m sure you’ve been to these things before. You’ll need drink tickets
that are also raffle tickets. Either using them for drinks or put them into the
raffle bin, they are two-dollars each. They are drawing for a portable Sony CD
player.”
He pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. “I’ll take ten,” she looked up at
him quickly, “for the raffle, of course!” he quipped with a smile that wasn’t
returned.
She pulled a spool of red carnival tickets toward her peeling off ten
tickets, took his money, instantly turning away from Jeff in a dismissive
manner.
“Okay then, you have a good night, there,” Jeff smiled to the side of
her head.
He turned, walking into the large room brimming with conversations, small
high-pitched tense laughter. He passed through the door standing to the right
of the entrance feeling a little better amid this happier noise compared to his
little conversation with the little snot-bag
dirty-hair pinched apple-face lady.
Deciding a drink would be a nice way to start the evening he wended his
way to the bar standing behind a short line, everyone facing forward. He could
pick up small wafts of perfume. He stood in the line realizing he could taste
the mixture of scents on his tongue remembering that women on the East Coast
tend to pour it on more than where he is from.
He watched what people were ordering seeing a lot of mixed drinks for
men, white wine or something like a Margarita on Ice for women. He didn’t know
his mixed drinks, so when asked he replied, “Cuba Libre,” but suddenly worried
that it might be too feminine he quickly corrected, “No, sorry, make that a
scotch and seven.” He didn’t particularly like scotch, but it was better than
bourbon which he detested.
The bartender looked apologetic, “I’m sorry, but we’re out of scotch,
can I get you something else?” Jeff decided heck with it, ordered a Cuba Libre
anyway. He glanced around him realizing that he wasn’t likely to be having
women knocking down his door tonight, so he asked for a double.
He was handed the drink, took a small sip,
stepped aside trying to figure out what to do with himself.
The room had a few more women than men, he liked those odds, only a few
seemed to know each other. He figured, hey why not so walked up to a small
group standing to the side. They opened up their circle, a pretty brunette on
the other side of the small ring motioned for him to step forward.
Hands were reached toward him, names said, he said his name. They all
stood quiet. He had the horrible sense that he broke up their little
conversation when the pretty brunette leaned forward reading his name tag. “So
Jeff from Seattle,
what brings you to DC?”
“I’m just here on business through the week. I get here all the time, so
I thought I would come down to meet some interesting people, maybe find some
new friends for when I’m in town.”
She walked around the group, stepping up to him holding her left breast
up to him so he could read her name tag, “Kathy,”
she smiled, “I’m from out-of-town, too.”
“Where are you from?”
“San Jose.
Well, not San Jose, Santa Clara really. Do you get down there
much?”
He nodded taking a long drink from his glass, “Yes, there’s a lot of my
industry down there, mostly around San Jose, Sunnyvale, Mountain
View. Santa
Clara? I have a favorite hotel in Santa Clara that I stay in when I’m down
there.”
“Yeah, I’m south of highway one-o-one, or is that west?”
Jeff laughed, “Yeah, I love the place where there is no such thing as north,
south, east or west. I mean where else can you be going north on highway
one-o-one coming to a perpendicular intersection saying Lawrence Expressway north and south?”
They both laughed.
“Yes, very true, I’m sure it drives the tourists crazy. But really it is
a nice area,” she sipped from her drink.
They chatted about this-and-that’s, it was clear to both of them that
there wasn’t the chemistry to turn this into an evening. They both found
themselves beginning to look around the room, each doing their best to at least
look like they were trying to stay
interested in their conversation.
Finally she said, “Oh, look. Jeff, will you excuse me, there’s someone I
know over there.” They shook hands, she stepped away.
Jeff finished his drink stepping up to the bar for another. He could
predict this night, sipping from his second double Cuba Libre: have a few drinks,
go to bed.
He stepped away from the bar, standing near another group of people when
he heard a voice behind him.
“Good evening, congressman.”
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