From the Shadows (Alex King Book 8) by A P BATEMAN

Author:A P BATEMAN [BATEMAN, A P]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rockhopper Publishing
Published: 2019-07-09T22:00:00+00:00

27

Washington DC

“Try the quail.”

“Thanks, but the ribeye sounds good.”

“The quail is exceptional,” he said, snapping the menu closed. The waiter was hovering to take the order and Standing said, “Two quail, dauphinoise potatoes and broccoli.”

The waiter ignored Johnson and wrote down the orders in a leather-bound notebook. They didn’t go in for iPads at the Congressman’s Club. It was old school, a place where time seemed to have stood still since the likes of Lincoln had founded it with political cohorts of the time. Since then, most congressmen would have entered its hallowed halls, eaten the very best food, drank the very best wine and spirits and marvelled at the fact that Presidents knew what it was like, but could never again enter once they had taken office. The clue was in the title and only congressmen could enter. The board was still in gridlock as to whether congresswomen would one day be permitted entry, but that would have to be for another day.

“You don’t mind me ordering, do you,” Willard Standing said, rather than asked.

“Well, you’re picking up the tab,” Johnson replied curtly.

“There’s no tab,” he said. “This place has been funded by donation since Abraham Lincoln’s day. There are a few rules, though. One may be permitted to bring a guest, just so long as it’s not a woman. And it’s frowned upon to bring more than two guests a month. On designated gambling nights, each attending member is expected to put up a stake of a minimum of one thousand dollars and if they lose, then to do so gracefully. You can order off the menu, but if you request something else, then you will be expected to pay comparable top restaurant prices.”

“And you can order anything?”

“There’s nothing they haven’t got, can’t get or won’t prepare. Some members have tried to outdo the kitchen, but all they’ve done is lose money. I’m not saying you can order spit-roasted giraffe, but if it’s a mainstream item, cooked any way, then they can do it.”

Johnson sipped some of his bourbon and reflected that his ribeye would be going to somebody else. And that it would have probably been very good indeed. But he knew the deal. Men like Congressman Standing needed to assert their power. It was all about control. He was taking the man’s money; he could go without his steak.

“There is a reason I brought you here,” Standing said. He moved his shoulder aside for the waiter who then served bread rolls. Another waiter, a more senior member of the staff wearing a tie and jacket, placed a chilled bottle of water in the middle of the table. He asked whether the congressman would like to order from the wine list. “I will leave it to your judgement, Joseph. Whatever you recommend with the quail…” The waiter nodded and Standing looked back at Johnson. “Unless I’m caught inside my mistress, or someone hands me a sack full of money live on CNN, I am going to be the next President of the United States of America.

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