The morning sun still sizzled through the bare windows, ricocheting off the mirrors that covered every inch of wall space. Even the ceiling was one solid mirror. Lee wasn’t sure why. Who in the hell would want to look up and watch themselves taking a dump?
He swept the chic complimentary perfumes and toiletries off the counter in disgust. It didn’t help his head, but it reminded him not to let his rage slip out of control. He took a deep breath, releasing it slowly through his nose like the anger-management counselor had coached. It didn’t work. It felt like he still had barbed wire wrapped around his skull, and some giggling evil bastard kept twisting it tighter. He idly scratched at his right ass cheek. Fresh itching erupting up his torso, and he attacked it, ending with a furious scratching in his right armpit.
What kind of shit had he gotten into last night? His head hadn’t hurt like this since . . . well, right now he couldn’t remember. He was going to have a serious chat with Jamal when he felt better, and if the dealer wasn’t forthcoming about his party favors, Lee would only be too happy to call on a couple of large, mean boys he kept employed down at the motor pool for just such occasions.
Maybe the hooker had some aspirin. Or maybe even something stronger. He couldn’t remember her name. He’d left her sprawled facedown on the bed, still passed out. The thought of digging through the wreckage of their suite for aspirin sounded exhausting, and so he simply squatted, holding on to his pounding head. Plus there was always the chance he might take the wrong pill, and he couldn’t be seen acting irrationally in public.
The itching spread to his groin and he took a moment to rake his nails through his pubic hair. For a moment, the scratching felt so good it almost eclipsed the pain his skull. He wondered if a shower might help. Maybe he could try and get some of the spray in his mouth, get a drink of water that way.
He stood, feeling the sunlight wash over his body. He caught sight of himself in the mirror. Instinctively, his gaze went to his abs. Still flat and tight. Then to the skin under his jaw. Still firm. Good. But too many nights like—
Wait a goddamn minute. He turned sideways, so the sunlight illuminated the right side of his body. Tiny red blotches covered his skin, from his ass to up under his armpit. He looked down at his groin in horror. More red bumps.
That BITCH.
He stormed into the suite and grabbed the hooker by the ankle and dragged her off the bed. “Get up. GET UP! Get up, you filthy, diseased cunt.” The girl struggled to open her eyes through a mass of blond curls and landed in an awkward tangle of long limbs and heavy breasts. She couldn’t have been more than nineteen.
“Baby, what’s—”
“You fuckin’ whore. Shut your fucking mouth.” He paced around the bed, clenching and unclenching his fists.
“Baby, I—”
Lee sprang at her. He grabbed a fistful of blond curls and punched her twice in the face. Grabbing her hair with both hands, he head-butted her, and felt the satisfying crunch as her nose shattered. She collapsed on the floor. He straddled her chest and took his time, using both fists in swinging, roundhouse arcs. After the fifth or six blow, she stopped struggling under him and tried to wrap her skinny arms over her head.
He was still hitting her when somebody knocked on the door.
Lee sat back, panting. He glanced quickly around the room, as if to make sure there were no cameras aimed at him. He stood, collecting himself for a moment, paused long enough to spit on her, then crossed the room and opened the door. “What?”
His uncle was at the door. Short, with a bad back. Dead eyes that wouldn’t blink at a night fire at an orphanage. “Jesus Christ, Lee, you want to bother answering your cell?”
“I got busy.”
“Do we, or do we not, have an agreement that you will keep it with you at all times? I have been calling you all morning. And when I call, you answer. It does not get any more simple than that.” This was Lee’s uncle Phil. He was an alderman, and although Lee was the star, nobody was kidding anybody.
Phil ran the show.
Phil, with his hunched figure, sunken eyes, and gray hair, would never rise beyond an alderman. He was, however, a very skillful Chicago alderman. As a Chicago alderman, as long as you weren’t a convicted child molester or a member of the NRA, you could get away with most anything. But he had gotten his fingers too dirty for the kind of scrutiny that comes with the elections for a higher office.
Lee, however, was handsome and charming enough for the business. Phil found all possibilities of opportunities as far as Lee was concerned. Lee wasn’t going to be just a Streets and Sans commissioner forever. No, he was being groomed. Whispers floated through the elevators and walls in City Hall. “Congressman. Maybe even a senator. After that, who knows?”
And Phil would be the man behind the throne. The only one Lee trusted utterly. Phil was looking forward to all the new pies he’d be able to dip into.
This morning, however, made the job difficult. “You some kinda run-of-the-mill, bought-and-paid-for politician who puts his dick before the job? Is that it? Is that who you are? Somebody who’d rather fuck some coked-up whore than take care of himself?”
Lee stammered out, “No . . . no . . . I . . .”
“‘I’ what?” What’s that? What are you trying to say for yourself?”
“I just found out.”
“Oh. You just. Found. Out. I see.”
“I’m taking care of this situation.”
“I see.”
They listened to the whore trying to cry through a shattered face.
Lee said, “I’ll deal with it. I promise.”
Phil pushed past him and shut the door softly. He locked it. Tested it. Took a deep breath. He turned on Lee. “What kind of fucking hotel did you set us up with here? Jesus Christ, did my sister beat you in the head with a frying pan when you were a child?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You aren’t the only one that’s been bit, dickhead.”
Phil waited until Lee met his eyes, making sure that Lee understood that he was talking about the businessmen who worked so adeptly behind the scenes to make sure the Machine was well-oiled in their favor. “Nobody’s blaming you. Not yet. This goddamn hotel—it’s got fucking bugs, Lee.”
“Bugs?” The beating had quickened Lee’s pulse, but his head was still foggy.
“Yeah, you fucking idiot. Our friends, they’re all bit up. So am I. Itches like a sonofabitch.”
Puzzle pieces finally started snapping together for Lee.
Phil saw the light of understanding finally dawn on Lee’s face. “First, get on the phone with the manager. I want eggs and oysters and Bloody Marys in their rooms five minutes ago. Make sure those guys are taken care of. Next, get Dr. Preston up here immediately. I’ll be there in ten minutes. I gotta go back and get some ointment on these rashes. Tell the manager to meet me in the lobby in fifteen minutes, but I’ll stop by the rooms first, see if I can’t calm the old bastards down.”
“Okay.” Lee looked back at his whore. “Call that pimp. He needs to escort his property from my room. Stupid bitch got drunk and fell out of the tub.”