Corrupting Power
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Brewster's Brood - Part 32
🕑 Added 2023-09-02 09:56:04 +0000 UTCPart Thirty-two
Danny Garney – 3/10/2017 – Saturday – 10:47 pm
Danny ended the call and walked back towards the backyard deck where all the action was going on. They’d gotten Max into three different new partners over the last couple of hours, and now he was exhausted, but still willing to entertain people, listening to some of the women tell stories while telling tales of his own. The relaxed, jovial, cheerful Max was the sort of Max that Danny liked to see. It meant they were doing their job, and all of this was starting to feel like some semblance of a new normal for him.
The tone of his boss’s voice had been calm, even if the words she’d been saying had immediately made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Danny wanted to be pissed. He wanted to shout and yell and beat the shit out of someone, but Mrs. Churchill had insisted he stay cool and follow her lead, and that they would make everything work out for the best in the end.
Danny had learned to trust Mrs. Churchill’s instincts when it came to these things, and so he was trying to keep his best, impassive game face on, as Liane made her way over to him. “I know that face, baby,” she said to him. “Something’s wrong.”
“Yeah, but Mrs. Churchill said she’s handling it.”
“Did we do something wrong?” Liane asked nervously. “I know we were having sex live on the streams, but I figured that sort of thing was fine, and she wouldn’t mind.”
“She did not mind one bit,” Danny chuckled. “In fact, she said to tell you that you looked like you were having a whale of a time, and that as long as you weren’t doing anything you didn’t want to, you could keep on doing it and that no one would give you guff over it.”
“Well, that’s very kind of her,” Liane giggled. “So what’s wrong?”
“I can’t really talk about it here, but if you want to call us an Uber to go to the Claremont Club, I can tell you about it on the way back,” he said to her.
“On it. Meet out front then?”
“How far out’s the car?” Danny asked her.
“Looks like about ten minutes,” she answered. “You know how long it takes anyone to come get us up here in the hills. Remember when we were trying to get pizza delivered while getting everything here set up?”
“Ugh,” Dany chuckled. “Don’t remind me. I swear, I think it was just to try and squeeze bigger tips out of us. Anyway, you head out front, and I’ll be out there with our passenger in just a few minutes.”
“Our passenger? Oh. You mean somebody else is in trouble.”
“Yep.”
“You gonna tell me who?”
“Nope.”
“Spoilsport.” Liane headed into the house to cross out to the front yard, as Danny looked through the crowd of people, sorting through them before his eyes settled on the person he was looking for, picking her out of the masses.
Esme Santiago.
“Hey Esme,” Danny said to her quietly. “I need you to come with me, right now.”
The Latina woman looked up at him with concern in her eyes. “Is something wrong?” she asked, although Danny saw the guilty look dash across her face before disappearing. He was a little disappointed in himself that he hadn’t seen it earlier, but with so many women to keep track of, he figured it wasn’t on him to keep as much of tabs on the girls as it was on him to make sure that Max was kept safe.
“Nothing that I’m sure a quick conversation can’t get settled,” he said. “C’mon, let’s go.”
He could tell exactly how nervous the woman was as they left the main place, but when he and Liane got in on either side of her in the back seat of the Uber – a black Toyota Corolla – he could tell she tensed up a little bit, not that he blamed her. “Can I just ask—”
“Just wait,” Danny said. “Everything’ll be answered soon.”
The drive was somewhat uncomfortable, with Liane looking at her phone, while Danny called Abby, to have her looped in on how he was away from Ironwood, and that Heather was there, but if she could do him the favor of keeping tabs on what was happening via the security cameras for the next few hours, he’d appreciate it. Abby was, of course, curious about what was going on, but Danny kept light on the details, saying he’d fill her in later. They knew each other well enough that Abby was able to pick up on the tone of his voice that said he didn’t want to get into the details right now.
It was only about a fifteen-minute drive under the worst traffic from the Ironwood location up to the Claremont Hotel & Spa, with the location having been chosen intentionally nearby without being right on top of the place. The Uber driver pulled into the parking lot and let the trio out in front of the iconic white building that had stood the test of time for over a hundred years, having been built in 1915. He was actually looking forward to spending some time poolside when the gag was over, but for now, there was business to attend to.
The three of them headed into the hotel before heading down the hall to the ballroom that they’d rented out for five months, something that the hotel had been utterly shocked by, but when the check had cleared, they were perfectly happy to do everything they could to accommodate the needs of “the Churchill Team.”
Walking down the hallway, Danny was still surprised they’d been allowed to leave heavy cables just shoved against walls like this, but he guessed that other people weren’t really wandering in the areas that the Churchill Team had paid for, and that the amount of money they’d spent had bought them their fair share of privacy.
They reached the main control room and Danny poked his head in, giving a wave to Mrs. Churchill, who stood up and started walking over towards the door, slipping out and stepping into the hallway. “Ah, you made good time, Danny,” she said to them. “I wasn’t expecting you for another ten or fifteen minutes. And you’ve brought Miss Santiago with you, as per my request.”
“Am… Am I in trouble, Mrs. Churchill?”
“Let’s take a walk, the four of us, down by the poolside.”
They walked away from the control room and headed down the hallway, none of them speaking, but Danny knew that Esme was definitely feeling some subliminal pressure by how they’d positioned themselves around her, Liane walking directly behind her, Danny on her right and Mrs. Churchill on her left, like they were making sure she could only run straight forward, and if she did, they’d all be able to reach out and grab her without too much work.
“Why am I here, Mrs. Churchill?” Esme asked nervously as they stepped out of the building and started walking along the side of the pool.
“I think you know exactly why you’re here, Esme,” Mrs. Churchill said patiently. “And I can understand how Mrs. Pajak must’ve made a very compelling offer, but you know that it’s completely against the terms of the contract you signed to be giving them access to our systems.”
“Mrs. Churchill, I am so sorry! They were threatening to tell my mother if—”
The older woman put her hand atop of the younger woman’s shoulder. “Now now, Esme, there’s consequences to be had, but not as bad as you’re thinking. You’re not going to be ejected from the game, as much as you probably should be.”
“I don’t… I don’t understand.”
“I made a promise to the person who coordinated this whole thing that if they named names, and if they promised not to do it again, I would have a polite conversation with the parties involved, and I wouldn’t dole out severe punishments for either the perpetrator or the person who instigated the breach.”
“But I am going to be punished?”
Mrs. Churchill smiled, and Danny had seen that look before. She didn’t enjoy crushing spirits, but she enjoyed setting the terms of each and every engagement, and she was going to make sure that Esme understood who was in charge and who was simply following everyone else along that path. “You are. If you answer my questions honestly and straightforwardly, then it’ll be relatively minimal. Lie to me or refuse to answer my questions, and it will prolong your punishment significantly. You understand?”
“Yes, Mrs. Churchill.”
“Was it you who put the taps on our broadcasting devices?”
“Yes, Mrs. Churchill.”
“At whose behest?”
“A man named Aldus Finley.”
“For what purpose?”
“He said his client just wanted to see what kind of man Max was,” Esme said nervously, wringing her hands together. “None of the footage was going to be shown anywhere else, no one was going to be exploited or hurt. Mr. Finley said it was just someone who was trying to size Max up, to learn a little bit more about the man set to inherit the Brand fortune.”
“Did he tell you whom his client was, Esme?”
“No, Mrs. Churchill. Sorry, Mrs. Churchill.”
“That’s alright, dear,” Mrs. Churchill said, a soft smile on her face, something Danny was familiar with, although it was clear Esme was not. “I wouldn’t have expected Aldus to have given away the identity of his client to you.”
“You knew it was Mr. Finley?”
“I confronted him earlier this evening, Esme.”
“Then why did you ask me?”
“For confirmation,” Mrs. Churchill said cryptically. “And to make sure you were going to tell me the truth when I was asking you questions. How many tap devices did you install?”
“One on the main trunk line, a tracker on Max’s food truck and one on Max himself, well, tucked into his wallet. The main trunk line was the only one able to pick up audio or video – the tracker was just so that Mr. Finley knew where Max was. I can take them—”
“Danny’ll handle those for us, Esme, don’t you worry,” Mrs. Churchill said. “Did Mr. Finley ask you for names of any of the other contestants?”
“No, Mrs. Churchill,” she sighed. “Nor did he want to know anything about you, or even really about the game itself. I wasn’t sure what to do, and I panicked and—”
“It’s alright, Esme,” Mrs. Churchill replied, sounding more like a grandmother than she ever had whenever Danny was around. “You should have come to me with this problem, but I understand why you didn’t. Mr. Finley and I go way back, and I know exactly how compelling he can be when he’s trying to exert pressure over someone. Now, on to the important questions. Do you think any of the other girls in the competition are operating under the direction of someone else?”
“I don’t—”
“Think carefully now, Esme, because we’re into the portion of the conversation where your answers are going to determine exactly the level of trouble you’re in.”
The Latina thought for a long moment before shaking her head. “Not anyone that I’ve seen, Mrs. Churchill, but as per your instructions, my focus is mostly on Max, making sure he’s having a good time and keeping him impregnating as many women as possible. All my time is mostly spent on making sure that’s what he’s doing. I’ve seen some of the girls working together if that’s what you’re asking me about—”
“It’s not, but if you’ve seen anything—”
“I think Jenny Westinghouse and Kelly Coleman have formed some kind of alliance,” Esme immediately volunteered. “I saw the two of them talking, shaking hands and even kissing when Max wasn’t around, so I think they may be working together.”
Mrs. Churchill nodded. “I suspected we’d start seeing things like that happening, but there’s nothing against it. Still, it proves that you’re paying attention when Max is around and that you’re not just completely blind about the eyes on the prize right now. Anything else?”
Esme frowned a little bit, looking down before looking back up. “I don’t know that I want to rat on any of the other players…”
“No holding out now, Esme.”
The Latina nodded. “I’m pretty sure I saw Blake sliding a tracker on Max’s motorcycle the other day.”
“Blake hm?” Mrs. Churchill said with a soft laugh. “For herself or someone else?”
“Someone else,” Esme sighed. “I saw Svetlana give her an envelope of cash when she first arrived, so I suspect that was a payoff for putting the tracker on Max’s motorcycle.”
Mrs. Churchill grinned. “That would explain a few things.”
“I wasn’t even sure it was against the rules of the game,” Esme said. “So I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to say something or not say something or…”
“If there’s ever any doubt, Esme, you should always talk to Danny,” Mrs. Churchill said. “He’s your man on the inside and he’s there to make sure you girls have a direct line to me. Or you can always submit a question to me via the forms. We’ve been very prompt at answering all those that have come in, so if you see something, you should say something.”
“Yes, Mrs. Churchill.”
“So here’s what we’re going to do… you’re going to be out of the game for a week’s time, starting right now. It’s just about Sunday the 11th, so when it turns Sunday the 18th, you can get back into Max’s orbit.”
Esme moved to sit down on one of the deck chairs, looking up at Mrs. Churchill. “That’s… surprisingly fair, ma’am. I sort of expected you to eject me, and to have to plead my case about how Mr. Finley forced me to do it.”
Mrs. Churchill held her hand up, smiling down at her. “I’ve played both with and against Mr. Finley several times over the years, Ms. Santiago; I am more than familiar with the sorts of pressure he can bring to bear on people when he wants to. If anything, it sounds like he took it lightly on you, out of respect for me, I’m guessing. That said, I can’t just let you go completely unpunished. It would… make me look weak, and I can’t have that. The sort of people I deal with on a daily basis, if they smell weakness, they’ll be all over me like sharks on blood.”
“I know that feeling, ma’am,” she said softly. “I feel that way back in Texas, like if any of the men I work with day to day think I’m weak, they’re going to try and take advantage of me. That’s why I’m here.”
Mrs. Churchill nodded. “I get it, Esme. I really do. Which is why we find ourselves here, you on time out and me wondering if there’s anyone else I need to watch out for pissing in my pool.”
“I don’t think so, Mrs. Churchill, but when I get back in the game, I can keep my eyes open for that kind of thing,” Esme said. “What do I do during the week I can’t get near Max?”
“I would spend that time studying the feeds, maybe talk to the other girls when Max isn’t around,” the older woman said. “You can go to Ironwood when you know Max isn’t going to be there, but you cannot let Max see you or interact with you for an entire week. If he asks about you—”
“He’s got so many women around him, he won’t—”
“Now now, you don’t know that my dear,” Mrs. Churchill said. “He did spend a significant amount of time around you in the first few days, and maybe that’ll carry with him moving forward.”
“I hope you’re right, Mrs. Churchill.”
Danny felt like it was his turn to say something, as he placed a hand on Esme’s shoulder. “It’s a fair penalty, Esme. Take comfort in the fact that you’re still in it, and that you’ve already gotten a few tries at it, so maybe you’ve gotten lucky and are already pregnant,” he told her.
“I hope you’re right, Danny.”
Max Brewster – 3/11/2017 – Sunday – 05:15 am
The last night had been exhausting, and Max found himself sleeping incredibly well, surrounded by a sea of gorgeous naked women, and he was starting to wonder if this was going to end up being a habit for him, since it felt like every time he came by the Ironwood Estates building, nobody wanted him to leave. They just wanted him to be constantly fucking new girls, although he was starting to see a number of repeat customers.
He’d fallen asleep in a puppy pile about seven women, with Jenny on the right of him and Kelly on the left, which made it difficult to slip out from between them without moving, especially since his legs were underneath some women whose names he wasn’t entirely certain of.
Still, he did his best to extract himself from the mountain of flesh without waking almost anyone up, although he saw Jenny stir, opening an eye to look at him. “I’ve got to get to work,” Max whispered to her quietly. “You stay here, keep sleeping.”
“You sure you don’t want me to walk you out?” she asked him, but he waved his hand.
“You just fell asleep like three or four hours ago,” he whispered back. “I’m used to that kind of thing, but you aren’t. Don’t worry about it.”
“You sure?” she asked again, but this time in the middle of a yawn, and by the time she’d finished the yawn, she was back asleep again, and Max’s answer didn’t matter.
Wandering around Ironwood while everyone was sleeping was wild. He assumed there had to be a handful of people who were awake, but as far as Max could see, the entire place had crashed after the party last night and it felt like he was back in college again.
So early in the morning, the fog was thick over the Berkeley hills, and the sun had yet to rise. He could even hear crickets off in the distance a little as he made his way down to his motorcycle, hopping onto it, heading down the hills.
Sunday morning this early, traffic was non-existent, and he had the roads to himself. In fact, it almost felt like nobody was alive, which was the time he most enjoyed being in the Bay, when he had the area basically to himself, and everyone else was sleeping. It was the advantage of having to get up early, and when he took the bike down to the Hernandez brothers’ house, finding the truck exactly where it was supposed to be.
The brothers hadn’t taken the truck out yesterday, although Max had sent them a message saying that if they wanted to, they could run the business for the day. But the brothers hadn’t wanted to tackle the chaotic Saturday crowd, and Max didn’t blame them one bit. Sometimes Saturdays were easy, but most of the time it was a combination of people out and about, and the traffic would be wall-to-wall for a few hours before suddenly dying off without warning, and in the evenings, picking the right spot was essential. They had a standing reservation with the crowd over at Jack London Square in Oakland, and among a couple of the rotational spots in the South Bay, but if they weren’t scheduled to, the brothers hadn’t been known to want to pick up extra cash on their days off. Sometimes it was because they were working other jobs, but other times it was simply the need to decompress and rest, and Max could completely understand that.
He put his motorcycle over in the space dedicated for it and then grabbed the tarp, pulling it over the top of his bike to cover it, as it seemed like rain was a fifty-fifty shot for the day.
-you getting the truck?- came the message from Frankie.
-am there now – you got supplies?- he typed back.
-who am I? Mr. Forgetful? Course I got them-
-good be there in fifteen to twenty-
-why so long?-
-want to give the truck a once over-
-thought the boys didn’t go out yesterday-
-they didn’t, but it’s been making a weird thumping noise when you’ve been driving, so Imma give it a once over-
-it’s nothing – don’t take too long or we’ll hit church traffic-
-or the ride of shamers-
-let the kids have their fun – besides, you’re getting more than all of them-
-ugh I know – am so fucking tired-
-you want to take today off too?-
-won’t help. Wanna cook.-
-heard chef. C U sooooon-
Frankie had done the letters thing just to piss him off, Max knew, because he hated whenever people texted like they were Prince in the 90s. Max tucked his phone into his pocket and began to do a quick sweep of the truck.
Now that he was paranoid, it was a little easier to scan through all the portions of the truck he didn’t normally pay massive attention to. The cooking area was spotless, as was the ingredient storage area. But that meant he needed to sweep the exterior of the vehicle, as well as the cashier’s area and the driver’s area.
He didn’t want to take too long, so he kept it to just a ten-minute pass, looking for anything obvious or even strangely out of place, but at the end of it, he didn’t find anything. He wasn’t sure if that made him happy or angry.
Max was about to do an external search of the vehicle when a voice cleared his throat and Max nearly jumped about four feet into the air. “Jesus, Aaron! Don’t fucking do that to me!” Max said, laughing a little bit. “I know you’re in espionage and whatnot, but sneaking up on me is a good way to get yourself fucking killed!”
“The only weapons you’ve got within fifty feet of you are the Saturday Night Special under the counter in the truck and the chef’s knives you’ve got a foot or so away from them,” the man said, a broad grin on his face. “In either case, you’d never make it in time.”
Aaron Stamford was one of Max’s oldest friends, even if they never, ever saw each other these days. Aaron wasn’t much to look at – 5’8”, average build, mid-to-late forties, brown hair, brown eyes, no facial hair, nondescript face, nondescript haircut, nondescript attire – a grey t-shirt underneath a tan windbreaker and faded blue jeans. Even the man’s tennis shoes were unlabeled. He was the literal definition of the word ‘forgettable’ in every sense.
The thing about Aaron was that he’d known what he’d wanted to do with his life from a very young age, and as such, he’d developed everything about himself in the earliest years possible. And what Aaron had wanted to do was be a spy.
Because of that, Aaron had been something of a missing person in the high school yearbook. Whenever it had come time for events and group pictures, Aaron always seemed to be listed as: “Not pictured.” There weren’t photos of him in group activities. In fact, the only place he was shown in the yearbook at all was amidst the list of students and with his singular photo amidst all the other seniors – his only mugshot. And, because he’d been working on the yearbook at the time, the picture was out of focus, and nobody had noticed until it had already been printed and distributed. He’d only been able to do it for his senior year yearbook, so there was a relatively clear picture of him in the yearbook the year before, but he’d grown so much in those years that he barely even looked like that just a few years later, much less decades later.
“Look, I get you’re still living and breathing that whole spy cliché, but nobody’s after you, man,” Max laughed.
“What did I first tell you way back in high school?”
“’Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t out to get you.’ Yeah, I remember, Aaron. That’s why I called you. Because I figured you’d tell me I wasn’t being paranoid enough. Then you’d tell me what the fuck is going on.”
“What’s going on, that I can’t tell you,” Aaron said. “Not yet, anyway, but you were right to call, and I was glad to see you at least remembered the communication protocols, and that you called from a landline not directly tied to you. We’ll make a spook out of you someday.”
“But there is something going on. With me.”
“You’re being watched, that much I’m pretty certain of. Followed too. I got sight of a few different ex-soldiers on your six this morning, and the food truck had a couple of trackers on it,” he said, leaning quietly against the building next to the truck. “Nothing cheap, either. These were high end pieces of gear. You even have a spy camera broadcasting from the inside of the truck.”
“Broadcasting? Still? You didn’t take it out?”
Aaron shook his head, reaching into his pocket to fish out a cigarette. “If I take it out, then they know we’ve found it. What I did do was blind the cameras while I was doing a search of the vehicle, and while I set up a tap to try and figure out where the camera’s signal is going to. Left the trackers on, too. The less the know you’re onto them, the more time I’ll have to operate in the shadows.”
“Our little conversation here?”
“The audio mikes aren’t picking up shit. I’ve got a frequency blaster that’s designed to generally disrupt audio microphones in an area around me,” Aaron said. “I’ve generally got it on all the time.”
“So what can you tell me?”
“Well, whatever it is, it doesn’t seem like it’s meant to harm you, so take that with a little bit of positivity.”
“That’s not much, but why do you think they’re not out to harm me?”
Aaron shrugged. “I mean, we’re on guesswork at this point, but I’ve learned my hunches tend to be pretty good when it comes to shit like this, and the people I’ve seen around you, they don’t have any of the wetwork operators around in town,” he said. “Although a lot of these people are private sector, and I don’t really know that much about them.”
“But you’ll find out.”
“Course I’ll find out, Max,” Aaron laughed. “That’s my job in life – finding out shit that other people don’t want me to find out. It may take a few weeks but give me time. I’m on the job and I’ll sort out what’s going on once I can get start to unravel the threads.”
“And in the meantime, you’re sure I’m safe?”
“Sure? Safe?” Aaron laughed, rolling his eyes as he lit up his cigarette. “Those words aren’t in my vocabulary, friend-o. But you don’t seem to be in any immediate danger. I mean, nobody’s shooting at you, nobody’s trying to blow you up and nobody’s burning down your truck, so you’re already one step ahead of your restaurant.”
“Wait, somebody blew up my restaurant?!”
“Kidding again,” Aaron said, blowing out smoke from his cig. “Sorry. It’s just fun seeing what you’ll believe about me and what you won’t.”
“What I need is to know what the hell’s going on.”
“Give me time, Max,” Aaron said, starting to walk towards the edge of the building. “Until then, just live your life. Have fun. Get laid a little. You’re too uptight…”
As soon as Aaron disappeared around the back of the house, Max knew he was gone. But at least the possibility of answers was on his horizon now.
Comments
Kahunabob
OK, so I had not given BB a chance yet, binged it over the weekend and today. A lot more interesting than I thought it would be. And it's going to be fun to read how you handle the 3 or so layers of spy game shenannigans going on. Can't believe we're only about a week in and you're already at 255 pages :)
Metadi
I really like seeing Max take action and trying to grasp what is happening inside the bubble Churchill created. In addition to the day and time could the tag line have a counter?
