Squeeze Me - Carl Hiaasen Page 0,81
Legacy Friends, and each received a full bear-hug in their posed photo; a sleeve of new Titleists bearing the presidential seal; a liter of vodka from a Chernobyl distillery half-owned by Mastodon’s grown sons; an autographed teleprompter script for the first inaugural address, complete with “Pause for Applause” placements; an empty Dr. Pepper can, flattened, framed, and stamped with the time and date it had been hurled across the Oval Office; and two tickets to the after-party featuring a top Lee Greenwood cover band.
The theme of this year’s Commander’s Ball was “Big Unimpeachable You,” based on an original ditty commissioned by Fay Alex Riptoad and the other Potussies, who would be performing the song onstage. (The mid-range baritone part, originally written for Kiki Pew Fitzsimmons, had been posthumously reassigned to Kelly Bean Drummond and Dee Witty Wittlefield.) Glossy programs for the ball had been revised to include a short homage to Kiki Pew that featured a photo of the radiant widow flicking lint off POTUS’s suit collar during the inaugural Commander’s Ball. Omitted from the program text was any reference to Kiki Pew’s gory demise at the hands of Diego Beltrán’s border cartel, Fay Alex not wishing to darken the carefree mood of deep-pocketed partiers before the live raffle.
Typically about half the guests at the ball were year-round members of Casa Bellicosa who simply wanted to be seen at the season’s biggest bash, and the other half were political mega-donors who had G-5s and tall favors to ask. The chore of screening the list fell to the Secret Service, though seldom were more than a handful of persons denied entry. The wealthier the rejected ticket-seekers were, however, the more detailed was the justification demanded by the White House.
This year, Stanleigh Cobo, idle bachelor brother of one of the Potussies, had wanted to bring as his date a Chinese citizen whose uncle’s company was the world’s largest manufacturer of digital meat thermometers. Unfortunately, the niece herself reported directly (and often) to the Ministry of State Security, China’s version of the KGB.
When Stanleigh Cobo was informed that he’d have to find a new companion for the President’s gala, he broke down and begged the Secret Service agents for a security exemption. He confided that the woman, who lived in Guangdong Province, had promised to bring five grams of powdered narwhal tusk, his last hope for a presentable erection. The agents were unmoved, so Stanleigh Cobo tearfully called his sister Deirdre, who called the President’s under-assistant chief of staff, who called the Secret Service director, who called the deputy director, who called the West Palm field office, where Paul Ryskamp answered the phone, listened to the pitiable plot of Stanleigh Cobo’s romance, and said, “Bottom line, she’s a spy.”
“Oh, definitely,” said the deputy director. “But their date is just for one night. Can we put someone with her while she’s on the property?”
“I don’t have any spare bodies. They’re all assigned to Potussies, including Cobo’s sister.”
“Well, she gives a mountain of money to Mastodon’s PACs. The brother is a harmless dolt.”
“Who happens to be dating a spy,” Ryskamp reiterated.
“That’s so helpful, Paul. Any bright ideas?”
“I’ll bet Mr. Cobo could survive breaking up with his date if we can find him some narwhal tusk.”
“How? No, actually, I mean how the fuck?”
Ryskamp explained that Palm Beach was an epicenter of E.D. panic. “This is a place where you can score any kind of miracle boner potion, from scorpion wine to a tiger penis. Money’s never an issue, obviously.”
“I’m not sure how we’d expense it,” the deputy director said mirthlessly, “but what does five grams of whale horn cost on the street?”
“Let me check that out. Meantime, is there no way to convince Mastodon to skip the event?”
“Not a chance. He’s already rehearsing a big duet with Roseanne Barr. They’re singing ‘Leather and Lace,’ right after the huckleberry mousse.”
“Bloodbath,” said Ryskamp. “Poor Stevie Nicks.”
“She ought to sue,” agreed the deputy director. “Regarding the Agent Josephson problem, I agree with your recommendation. We’ll leave him on the First Lady’s detail, for now.”
“It’s a fraught set of circumstances.”
“A fucking disaster waiting to happen. Literally.”
“Mockingbird’s holding all the cards.”
“Again, Paul, no shit.”
“What did Mastodon say when he learned about the pythons?” Ryskamp asked.
“Christ, he thinks it’s just a political prank. He blames the Speaker of the House for the pie truck…whatever you call it.”
“Sabotage?”
“An ‘unexplained contamination’ is how we decided to file it.”
Ryskamp still hadn’t briefed the deputy director about what had really happened to Katherine