Page 114 - Just Deserts
P. 114

The Sirocco Lites 26K Run for the Money

        mean, the situation has been written up in the ‘Isla Views’ advertiser,
        but maybe you haven’t seen it.”
          Kevin interrupted cracking with his teeth ice cubes from his water
        glass to respond. “Oh, sure, all of us in the club know about it. We
        just figured the concession money was getting siphoned off into the
        wrong hands. Didn’t seem like the turnout was any less last year.”
          Holden ignored the implicit criticism. “Club?  What club?”
          “The  North  Coast  Racing  Vets.  You  didn’t  know  we  were  the
        wheelchair group in the race every year?”
          Comprehension  slowly  dawned  on  the  politician’s  pasty  face.
        “Then you must be the, uh...”
          “President  of  the  club.  That’s  right.  That’s  why  Ace  La  Manza
        contacted me. Same for you?”
          “Yes, I suppose so.” Holden felt the comparison unfair, but tried
        not to show it. “He suggested we get together on this, to present a
        united front.”
          “Yeah,  in  case  the  citizens  get  upset  by  at  having  their  home-
        grown marathon hijacked by a cigarette company.”
          Holden reddened and started to sputter, “No, no, that’s not the
        way to—”, but the food arrived at that moment.
          Kevin  Caltrop,  apparently  unruffled  by  the  conversation,  tore
        lustily  into  his  glistening  collation.  Holden  stared  unhappily  at  the
        multicolored  scoops  of  bean  salad  on  a  procrustean  bed  of  wilted
        lettuce  before  him,  then  hacked  desultorily  at  a  half-circle  of  pita
        bread in late rigor mortis.
          “Sorry,” Caltrop managed mid-mastication. “Didn’t mean to be so
        blunt. Not used to talking to guys in suits. Don’t let it bother you. It’s
        not  my  business  how  much  he’s  slipping  you  to  deliver  the  city
        council, and I wouldn’t want you looking into my bank account next
        week.”
          Holden looked furtively to the right and left. The patio had few
        diners left at this hour. “Understood.” He replied, adopting the other
        man’s telegraphic language.
          “Point is this,” continued the club executive, “you can count my
        guys in, one hundred percent. In fact, they’re all pretty gung-ho since
        I explained the benefits.”


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