Roger Dortmund opened the locked file and began sorting through the papers in each file. Finding something on Jeannette Whyst was not that big an order. Roger knew from the moment she came on board that she was compiling data on a number of important people in town with an eye to advancing her political position.

He also knew that her arrogance in treating the rest of the Chamber with disdain and relegating them to menial roles meant she was unconcerned with the privacy of her office.

He lifted a heavy file out and set it on the desk, flipping through several pages and shaking his head at the colossal blunders a number of prominent men and one or two women had made that were meticulously recorded. Roger pondered the mystique of the woman, wondering how she could control so many people so easily.

A passing tinge of jealousy slid through his head, increasing his desire to find something truly damning among her papers. He lifted a small sheet from the file and studied it carefully, unsure at first what he was looking at and then it dawned on him. This was a note from Hiram Belvedere, the general manager of the new Colonial Palm Hotel, thanking Jeannette for her business regarding the Mayor's party and in a post script at the bottom, an additional thank you for a, 'stimulating post party celebration'. Included was his private cell number.

Roger smiled to himself, tucking the paper into his pocket as he finished leafing through the file, and returning it to the drawer. Hiram Belvedere held the majority of shares in the Palm Lakes Golf Club and with some strategic coaxing, Warren Biggs might be able to put the screws to Clifford Whyst. Maybe even revoke his privileges. Roger actually giggled as he skipped from Jeannette's office.

"That son of a bitch!" Rob slammed his hand against the table and winced as the shock ran up his arm and into his jaw.

"She certainly cast a wide net." Warren Biggs offered, smirking at his boss's antics.

"I meant Belvedere. I relied on that bastard's promise of loyalty and support."

"Seems there's rot running through the entire male population of Santa Gordo." Warren remarked.

"Yeah, and its name is Jeannette."

Bradley Marchmount coughed into his hand and gave the other two a guilty look.

"Oh Christ, not you too, Brad." Rob threw his hands in the air and circled the room muttering in tongues.

"It was just a one time slip, Rob. I- she uh- she wanted some advice setting up her organization of the Chamber."

"What!?"

"This was before your election, Rob. I'm completely aligned with you and Warren- no distractions."

"Except your head is on her wall now."

"Oh no, you can't assume that." Bradley snickered. "It was nothing. Not a big deal."

"Where did this take place?"

"I don't think that ma—"

"Where, Bradley."

"Her place. It was a Tuesday afternoon for God's sake. The whole business lasted less than an hour."

"Did you hear what she said about a video and me?"

"Sure but . . ." Bradley's face turned ashen and his hand began to tremble. "Jesus, you don't think . . . ?"

"So much for your support, Bradley. She'll grind you the same way she's grinding me." The room fell silent and then both men looked at Warren.

"What? Forget it, guys. This boy is as clean as a whistle."

"High morals or lack of opportunity?"

"Screw you, Bradley. I don't mess business with politics."

"Don't you mean, pleasure?" Rob asked.

"Either one. I've got all I need or want at home. You don't walk in the surf barefoot without consequences."

"Friggin' white knight." Bradley scoffed.

"Beats being a trophy, Marchmount."

"Alright, enough. We need a plan. How do we make use of her confession to me? It is the one piece of information that could save the day."

"I'd say it was a stand-off, Rob. She puts you on the internet and that's all she wrote-- for life. I can't see a step we can take without getting water over the top of our boots." Warren shrugged apologetically.

"Not good enough! We need to screw her to the wall- metaphorically speaking."

"Could we use Hiram in any way? Threaten to tell Clifford say?" Warren asked. "Maybe Hiram could threaten his golf somehow."

"In light of what he already knows I don't think another indiscretion will carry much weight." Rob said. "And as for Hiram's weight in dealing with Clifford, that's fantasy."

"There's your solution then, use her indiscretions; let Clifford screw her to the wall, to use your metaphor."

"But will he? Maybe old Clifford doesn't want it known about that he was scammed by a wanted felon."

"I'd be willing to bet Wilfred is hustling his little bottom around town right now putting out fires for him." Bradley said.

"That's what I mean," Rob complained. "What if that's exactly what happens and he makes it all go away? That still leaves me- us- exposed and vulnerable. We need some ideas."

"Raise his taxes."

They looked at Bradley. "What? What the hell good would that do?"

"You asked for thoughts." Bradley whined.

"Jesus, I'm doomed." Rob sank into his chair and squeezed his head.

"I'll have a chat with Wilfred, tap some gauges, get a reading."

"Good, Warren. That's good. Find out what their strategy is."

"One if by land, two if by sea." Warren quoted as he rose and left with a hearty wave.

"Do you ever really understand half of what he says?" Bradley complained.

"It's what he does that interests me, Bradley." The look indicated Rob's displeasure with his councilman's contribution. "How about you hit on some of your sources for assistance or information?"

Right. On my way." Bradley scurried to the door and gave a shaky salute as he left.