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routine of the night, I had just enough time to
set my plan into motion.
    Watch out Uncle B, your new momma is just as
lethal as the one you took from me. You’re about to find out you
never should have hurt Valerie Malloy or my father the way you
did.

CHAPTER SEVEN
     
     
     
     
    “Y es, this is
Clit...Clifford Bernini,” I said, always getting a kick out of it
when I confused my Queen nom de plume with my real name.
    “I’d like to arrange for a transfer of one
hundred million dollars to Mission Green Freedom. Yes, that’s
right. Queen of the Night,” I stated, knowing before they even
asked that they’d need my private code. “And yes, I’ll fly down in
the morning to complete the transaction.”
    So, the GOP thought they were the only ones
who could play the super PAC game. Not this year. There’s a new
political action committee boss in town.
    Karl Cunningrove is no longer the only one
running the show, I thought, while trying to get myself out of the
black leather Cher get-up.
    Cunningrove better enjoy his Weaver Terrace
breakfasts. Because his guests are about to get a better offer from
right here in Key West.
    The current White House may have lost the
love of the big banks and Wall Street because of the passage of
their Dodd-Frank Act, but they should be celebrating that feat.
That’s where the true evil in this world resides.
    Good for President Ruvama for trying to stick
it to ‘em. But, he needs some help when it comes to implementation.
Otherwise, those damn big bank and private equity firm lawyers will
have ‘em tied up for another two years in all of the how-to’s and
regulation writing needed for the act to actually be enforced with
some teeth.
    The center of power will always be where the
money is. And now, thanks to my new super PAC, we’ll have a new
center with new money, and for once, be able to do good things with
it.
    I turned the key, enjoying its reflection in
my dressing mirror. Uncle Bernini was turning out to be quite a
dumb ass in his final life. If it wasn’t senility, then maybe the
drag persona had him rattled. The root cause didn’t matter to me. I
was just tickled to be the beneficiary of his snafu.
    Leave the key to your downfall in a wig box?
Now that’s a special kind of stupid. Hmmph. There’s no secret
hiding places in a cabaret’s dressing rooms. He deserved to lose
the key just because he was so careless in hiding it.
    I considered putting a fake key back into his
wig box, so he’d been none the wiser regarding the missing one. For
a while, at least. But then, I decided against it.
    Until we finally had the chance to snuff out
his last ounce of life, it was time the rest of us had a little fun
at his expense.
    “Are you ready to head out?”
    Roman appeared in the door of my dressing
room just as I had discarded the last of my over-the-knee boots and
was slipping into a pair of linen pants. I reached for a silk palm
tree printed shirt.
    “The plane is on standby?” I asked, knowing
without a doubt that my half-brother’s employer had everything
arranged just as I’d asked him to do.
    “Yes. We’re good to go.”
    “Lighten up, my boy,” I said, giving his
gorgeous dark locks a ruffle. “This is gonna be fun.”
    For the briefest of moments, I thought I saw
him smile. But I was probably totally imagining it. No one in
either of our families smiled much anymore. But hopefully, if my
plan worked, that would soon change.

CHAPTER EIGHT
     
     
     
     
    “M ission Green
Freedom? Who the hell is Mission Green Freedom, Ross?” President
Ruvama asked me.
    As his Chief of Security in the Secret
Service, I should probably answer to the best of my knowledge.
Although, why he was asking me, I hadn’t figured out.
    Being a Bellesconi, I was used to answering
tough questions, but answering them for the President of the United
States was proving to be the toughest of the tough. The President
was sharp, and unlike most people I dealt with in Washington,