Royal Digs Read Online Free PDF Page B

the
richest men in the world.
    Where there’s that kind of money, there’s
always coordination in how it’s spent. If The Governor’s tax
returns were made public, proving all kinds of coordination had
been taking place for years, the empires I’d built for both of us
could suffer substantial losses. And neither of us liked to
lose.
    Once upon a time, when I still operated out
of Naples, I was the only one who knew the information and codes
that controlled entry to the other side of those formidable walls.
But because my deceased wife had been smarter than I gave her
credit for, I hadn’t been able to secure my hold on that
information until I’d once more gotten my hands on that damn
key.
    What worried me was how much the rest of my
family knew. And the Bellesconis too. There could be hell to pay if
I didn’t handle this soon.
    Don’t get me wrong. None of this frightens
me, and never has. Bankers and traders at my level aren’t repentant
if deals go bad. Those of us who own Wall Street have no fear of
being punished individually. The government doesn’t have the
resources to track what we do. And even if they did, the risks we
take on the trades we make pay off big-time. Any penalties pale
when stacked next to our personal profits. But that doesn’t mean I
won’t go to any length to remove threats against my livelihood.
    Taking a break from working on my new Marilyn
Monroe routine for Clito’s Cabaret, I rubbed my aching feet,
swearing that I’d never get used to these fucking heels.
    “Ah, there you are, Star Fish. I’ve been
looking for you, Honey,” Clito’s raspy voice filled the dark,
smoke-filled dressing room.
    “You found me,” I purred, trying to play the
game.
    “Just in time, too. We must get to work on
our show for the DNC Convention! My goodness, doll, if it doesn’t
start this coming Tuesday,” Clito said, sashaying around the
dressing room, taking stock of our costumes.
    “Charlotte will never be the same,” I said
and meant it.
    I never thought I’d see the day when a drag
queen would determine the Presidency of the United States. But
after I was through, it certainly would. In ways, no one would
imagine.
    I waited till Clito started fussing with one
of her costumes, making sure she wasn’t into what I was doing. I
then reached into the bottom of my wig box, checking as I do a
dozen or more times per day for the key that would change the world
forever.
    No! It can’t be.
    My hand immediately tensed, almost cramping
into a claw-like form. I frantically, without trying to gain
Clito’s unwanted attention, searched the confines of the box’s
false bottom again.
    Nothing! There was nothing fucking there!
    “Well now, what’s the matter, Fishy? It looks
like you’ve just seen a ghost! You really need more blush
darling.”
    And with that, Clito pirouetted out of the
room, leaving me to the madness of an impending nightmare.

CHAPTER TEN
     
     
     
     
    “I still can’t get
over that Clito’s Cabaret will figure prominently into this year’s
Democratic National Convention,” I said, tapping and then
increasing the size of the Huffington Post article I’d pulled up on
my iPad.
    The piece explained how the party of
tolerance was flexing and expanding its acceptance of alternative
lifestyles in a new way.
    “Wait till the Daily Show gets a hold of
this,” Bunny added, also busy studying her iPad.
    “Oh, and how ‘bout Meet the Press? They won’t
know what to do with it, will they?” I said, for the first time
looking forward to one of my new family’s plans. “Talk about
Carville and Matalin needing a cocktail party...”
    That got a good laugh from Bunny. Evidently,
she’d also seen the famous pundits’ ads for Maker’s Mark
whiskey.
    “Though the mainstream coverage will indeed
be interesting, wait till you see what we’ve got planned for all of
the social media outlets.”
    “You mean, Facebook, Twitter, Google+ and
Pinterest?” I asked, marveling at Bunny’s