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There was the first phase, which would be a twenty-story, two-hundred-room five-star hotel covering two acres on the riverbank, with high-end retail shops and restaurants on the ground level. And then there was phase two, which would project out into the river itself, reclaiming another acre of land. It would feature a $120 million tower with one hundred fifty luxury condominiums, and have a boardwalk and docks.
I just can’t screw this up, Badde thought.
Then, right before the beginning of the runway, he noticed that they were passing over the snow-covered Union League golf course.
And that’s another thing. A small thing, compared to others, but another thing that’s gonna go to hell if I don’t play my cards carefully—my future Union League membership.
I don’t think Mike Santos was happy that I said I had to get back to Philly to deal with some fires that were suddenly flaring up.
Real fires, it turns out.
What I do know is that Santos was pissed—he said he was, and that heads would roll in Washington—when he explained the problems he mentioned in that beach tent had to do with those EB-5 visas not getting approved yet.
I don’t think that was my fault—HUD rubber-stamped them—but government types are always fast to shift blame, pointing their lazy fingers at someone—anyone—else.
Right now Lenny is my big problem.
What was that line that Willie Lane read to me?
“It’s a crime to scheme to monitize one’s official position.”
Why would he bring that up? Everyone on the council does it in some way.
Then again, not everyone gets caught.
Willie said that Carlucci demanded I get “Skinny Lenny to renounce that incredible notion that we allow illegal drug activity to flourish as a method of population control.”
I don’t know who the hell told him Lenny’s real name. And about Lenny doing jail time.
But I’m pretty damn sure he didn’t swallow the line Jan gave me about putting him on CPOC “because his time in the penal system gave him a unique perspective for the committee.”
Willie said if Lenny doesn’t take back what Carlucci called “outrageous nonsense and reprehensible,” then the president of the city council should say that he was immediately transferring me from my seat on the Committee for Public Safety, “which of course would have an immediate effect on any and all of his appointments in such capacity.”
I don’t care one bit about being booted from Public Safety.
But if for some reason Willie does the same to me with HUD, then whoever takes over HUD can and will look into the details of the PEGI projects—and possibly cancel them.
And then if they make the connection that I am essentially the one behind Urban Ventures, Willie can get on his high horse and say that he warned me “it’s a crime to monitize one’s official position.”
Rapp Badde felt an icy chill shoot through him.
Maybe that’s why he did that!
He knows!
And if that’s the case, kissing any chance at the mayor’s office good-bye will be the least of my worries. And—Boom!—forget the new project.
I’ll be busy just up the river serving time in Curran-Fromhold.
—
“Well, Lenny? What the hell do you want to stop this nonsense?” Badde barked into the phone.
The aircraft’s tires began rumbling as they touched down on the 33 of the shorter of PNE’s two perpendicular strips. Despite the runway having been plowed, it still was slick from the snow, and the pilot used up almost every inch of the five thousand feet of asphalt before stopping and being able to turn onto the taxiway.
“You gonna calm down and listen?” Cross said. “Or just keep yelling that same thing over and over?”
You bastard, Badde thought.
