Black Iris: Chapter Twenty
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CHAPTER TWENTY
After learning all I can about my doomed lawsuit, it’s time to focus on another part of the case. I want to find out what’s going on with the mayor, and to do that I have to see him up close and personal.
When I get to his office, I find Tammy sitting at the receptionist's desk. Her eyes are bloodshot, and she has a silly grin on her face. The combined flavor of cannabis and Cheetos hangs in the air, overpowering the alley garbage stench I walked in with.
“Ha,” she says. “You look like the guy on the bag.” She pops a powdery orange stick into her mouth, then chases it with a swish of green beverage.
Her breath reeks of pot brownies. Marijuana is legal here, but I doubt the mayor would approve of its consumption during work hours.
“Hello, Tammy. Did I take a wrong turn somewhere? I thought you worked in the Office of Zoning and Planning.”
She giggles. “I do but, uh… sometimes I like to hang out here during lunch since the place is usually empty.” She leans in and whispers, “Don’t tell anybody.”
“I won’t. What about the mayor’s assistant?”
“Currently, he doesn’t have one.”
“Really?”
“Yep. The last one was fired over a month ago, and they haven’t bothered hiring a new one.”
“So how would one go about setting up a meeting with him?”
“Our office is actually handling his schedule these days. Hold on, lemme look at his calendar.” She wipes orange dust on her pants and wakes up her phone. “Uh… looks like… he’s free Tuesday, September 7th from 3:15–4:00 p.m. Shall I pencil you in?”
“Nothing sooner, huh?” I sneak a peek at her screen and see he’s currently in a lunch meeting at Francine’s Steak House around the corner from City Hall. “Uh, no thanks. I’ll just send him an email. Ok, have a good one, Tammy.”
“Bye, Chester,” she snorts.
***
Francine’s is a somewhat overpriced steak house with a $46 filet mignon and frites instead of fries. There’s no dress code, but they prefer that you not smell like trash. Luckily, I’m a local celebrity and rarely get turned away at restaurants.
The host greets me with a practiced smile. “Good afternoon, sir, welcome to Francine’s. Will you be dining alone this afternoon, or will others be joining you?”
I glance at my wrist where a watch could be but isn’t. “Actually, I’m supposed to be meeting Mayor Bottom for lunch, and I’m running a bit late. Could you please direct me to his table?”
“Certainly, sir. If you go just around this corner and follow the hallway past the bar, you’ll find him in the second private dining area.”
“Thank you, my good man.” I stuff a folded fiver into his breast pocket and pat him on the shoulder.
The mayor doesn’t react as I approach his table, but Annette regards me with disgust. I ignore her.
“Mayor Bottom! Sorry to bother you, but I just wanted to come tell you what a big supporter I am.” I offer my paw, and his two guards spring forth from the back corners of the room. Their faces are just as cold as the mayor’s.
“It’s ok,” Bottom tells them. The guards return to their posts, and the mayor offers a waxy hand. “Nice to meet you.”
In addition to the mayor and his wife, there’s a man at the table that I don’t recognize. He’s young and handsome, with a genuine smile. He reaches across the table to get in on the hand-shaking action. “Manny Lopez, Chief of Civic Engagement. Huge fan, Mr. Snowball.”
“Great to meet you, Mr. Lopez.”
“My sister is actually a member of the Order of Bastet. Her name’s Maria. Maybe you know her.”
If she was there last summer, then I probably fucked her. “Maybe. It’s a big cult, and I’m not always around.”
“I was actually thinking of joining myself.”
“You should. It’s a great organization.” Maria must not have told him about the orgies. It can get awkward for blood relatives, which is why I always steer clear of the place on those rare occasions when my mother drops by.
“The mayor appreciates your support,” Annette says with a humorless expression, “but we’re actually in the middle of a lunch meeting here.”
“Oh, sorry, I’ll get out of your hair then. But if it’s not too much trouble, do you think I could grab a quick selfie?”
“Now is not really a good time. Call my office and we can set something up.”
“Oh, nonsense,” Lopez says. “Come on, it’ll only take a second.” He stands up and gets behind the mayor. “Here, give her your phone,” he says to me. “Annette, you don’t mind, do you?”
She sighs. “Fine.”
I hand her my phone and walk around the table to get in the shot. The Phantom said to look inside the ear for wires, but the mayor is so short that I can’t see anything.
“Actually, Mayor Bottom, would you mind standing up? I just think it’ll be a better picture.”
Even when he’s standing, I have to crouch a little to get a decent peek. I see no circuitry.
“Say ‘cheese,’” Annette says before I’m blinded by my camera’s flash. She offers my phone back to me.
“Actually, can we do one more?”
“Uh — ”
“And would you mind switching sides with me, Mr. Lopez? I want to get one with me over there.”
“Uh, sure.”
There’s very little space between the wall and the mayor’s chair, and I end up mashing my nuts on the back of his neck as I scooch past him. He doesn’t flinch. Lopez opts to go the long way around.
“Is everybody set?” Annette asks.
“Shoot.”
This ear looks normal, too.
There’s a click and another flash, then Annette hands me back my phone.
“Thank you.” Now to test the mayor’s chewing. “Hey, I couldn’t help but notice your food hasn’t arrived yet. Would anybody like a Tootsie Roll to tide you over? Mayor Bottom? You want one?”
“Uh — ”
Annette cuts him off again. “Thank you, Snowball, but we don’t want to fill up on candy when we’re about to eat the best steaks in the city.”
“You sure? They’re not that filling. Here, just…” I plop a fistful of candies on the mayor’s small appetizer plate next to a heap of bread crusts. “Let me unwrap one for you.”
“Ok, that’s enough.”
Annette gestures to the guards, and they charge from their posts, grab me with a python’s grip, and drag me away from the table. I’ve got one more card to play: the existential question.
“Hey, Mr. Mayor,” I shout across the room. “Why do you think there’s something instead of nothing?”
He looks at me blankly, but his head doesn’t explode.
Other patrons do their best not to stare as the guards pull me past their tables. When we get to the front, they each grab an arm and a leg and toss me headfirst out the door Wild West style.
As the door closes behind me, I hear one of the guards say to the host, “next time the mayor’s here, don’t let that guy in.”
“Of course, sir.”