Cosmic Cache by Ben Wolf

Author:Ben Wolf [Wolf, Ben]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781942462385
Publisher: Splickety Publishing Group
Published: 2020-01-07T07:00:00+00:00

“Senator McCann?”

Oliver McCann’s chuckles faded, and he turned toward the source of the voice. Some kid in waiter’s attire stood next to the table, staring at him. Oliver tapped the excess ash off the end of his cigar and took a long sip of his Balvenie 21. Though smooth, it burned his tongue and his throat, and he loved it.

He set the drink down and looked at the kid. “What is it, son?”

The kid swallowed and nodded, as if mustering the fortitude to speak. “Excuse me, sir, but there’s a call for you.”

Oliver glanced at his companions seated around the mahogany table with him, and he smiled at the kid. “I’m busy at the moment. Would you kindly ask whomever it is to leave a message? Preferably with my secretary in D.C.?”

“Pardon me,” the kid swallowed again, “but they’ve asked me to let you know it’s urgent.”

“Son…” Oliver drew a long pull on his cigar and let the smoke hit the back of his throat. “…it’s always urgent.”

“Go ahead and take it.” Truman Halford, one of the company’s wealthiest investors and real estate magnates, waved Oliver away. “We’ll be here all night.”

Oliver directed his smile at Truman. Smiling was one of the many things he’d mastered over his lifelong political career. Smile, and smile often. “I have no doubt, Truman. I couldn’t separate you from your drink with a crane and a wrecking ball.”

The others at the table laughed, and Truman added, “You don’t need a wrecking ball. Just show up with another drink. I’ll let go of this one eventually.”

The others laughed some more, including Oliver.

The kid didn’t leave, though.

Oliver admired his persistence. “Who’s calling?”

“He wouldn’t say. But it’s a man’s voice. He sounded alarmed. Almost frantic,” the kid said. “He told me he’d tried calling your personal cell phone and hasn’t heard back, so he tracked you down here.”

This person had tracked him to the cigar lounge at the Broadmoor in Colorado Springs? Oliver sighed. Whoever it was, they were persistent too. “Very well. Where’s the phone, son?”

The kid motioned toward the bar. “There’s a phone at the bar. If you need somewhere with more privacy, we’d be happy to arrange—”

“No need.” Oliver waved him off and stood. He set his cigar in the crook of the ashtray, drained the last bit of his whiskey, and handed the glass to the kid. “Just bring me another Balvenie 21. On the rocks, please.”

“Yes, sir.” The kid nodded. “Of course, sir.”

“Wait.” Oliver pulled out his gold money clip and handed the kid a pair of hundred-dollar bills. “Make it another round for the table.”

The men at the table gave a low-key cheer, and they met him with smiles and raised glasses.

“And keep the change, kid.”

The kid’s eyes widened. He smiled, too. “Thank you, sir. Right away, sir.”

Oliver had essentially handed the kid an extra thirty or thirty-five dollars for doing almost nothing. And in a down economy, for a kid like that, working as a waiter or a bar-back at the Broadmoor, an extra thirty bucks wasn’t chump change.

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