Another Notch in the Beltway by L. A. Long Page B

neither here nor there. Why did you go to Lenore’s house? She could have called the cops. Her companion could identify you. She could tell him her tale of the former intern done wrong, and he could go to the press. You’re a dumb fuck.”
    â€œHe’s a foreigner. I don’t think he knows who I am. Only introduced myself as Byron. His name is Michael Patrick Finnegan.”
    â€œForeigner?”
    â€œBritish, Scottish, Irish, Australian—something with that kind of accent.”
    â€œAre you as stupid as you appear to be?”
    â€œLook, Morris, are you going to help me or not? I know I fucked up. Seems to be my life’s work. But Jack needs that bone marrow transplant, damn it! While I don’t even like the kid, he’s my kid and I won’t let him die.”
    Morris didn’t point out that he’d be a sympathetic figure on the upcoming campaign trail if he were the father of two dead sons. In fact, he tried to soften his approach. “Okay. Do you want Corrine and Jack to know of the donor’s origin, if indeed Nathan Held is even a match?”
    â€œGod no! I wanted Lenore to convince him to get tested.”
    â€œYou are ignorant. While Cater and Jack were/are wastrels, Nathan Held is, by all appearances, a brilliant, decent young man. He takes after his mother.”
    â€œThat’s why I thought Lenore could convince him.” Byron commented, oblivious to the disgust in Morris’s voice.
    â€œYou’re the bastard, not your unacknowledged son.”
    Maxwell gave a wary laugh. “That’s exactly what Lenore said before she threw me out.”
    â€œImagine that,” Gerald offered with scathing sarcasm. “The point is you’re attempting to prey on his goodness as you did on Lenore’s all those years ago.”
    â€œShe’s been paid well to keep her silence.”
    â€œIf she’d gone public, written a book, she’d have made millions, and it would have launched her own writing career into the stratosphere a lot sooner. But no, she was honorable, worked and established her own success, raised a decent son, and you’re looking to suck blood, or should I say bone marrow, from them?”
    â€œEnough insults and bad clichés. I need help.” Maxwell ran a hand over his face.
    â€œYou’re the epitome of a bad cliché, any number of them,” his friend taunted.
    â€œYou seem to be her champion here, Gerald. Are you sure you weren’t doing her, too? Maybe I should have demanded a paternity test all those years ago.”
    â€œPoor kid looks exactly like you and, unlike you, Lenore didn’t hop from bed to bed, but yeah, I liked her. If things had been different, I might have made a move on her myself, but unlike you, I wasn’t married with a child.”
    Maxwell looked at Morris for a moment but said nothing.
    Finally, Morris said, “I’m sure the kid will ask questions and I’m sure that Lenore will tell him about it being his half brother needing a bone marrow transplant. I bet he’s had plenty of questions over the years about who his father is.”
    â€œLenore said as much. She told him she didn’t know. He didn’t believe her.”
    â€œLike I said, smart kid. Knows the measure of his mother and, short of rape, she wouldn’t have sex with a man she didn’t know.”
    Maxwell winced at the comment.
    â€œA little too close to home for you, Byron?” A sardonic laugh resonated from deep in Gerald’s chest.
    â€œYou son of a bitch. You know I cared for Lenore.”
    â€œNot enough to do the right thing by her all those years ago.”
    â€œI would have ruined her life—the media circus, the loss of my career. Like you said, I didn’t have the balls to leave Corrine and even if I had, there would have been nothing left. I would have been a bleached carcass on the side of the road.”
    â€œI hate to admit it, but