“Absolutely not true,” I tell the fuzzy microphones as I push through to my car. So much easier to lie to the mosquitoes than to my daughter. “It’s ridiculous. It’s another Toronto Star whatever.”
Dave Price is at the wheel of my Escalade. His short, army-cut hair and straight-ahead gaze says I got this.
“Seriously?” I say. “My strategy consultant is my chauffeur today? Christ, this must be bad.”
“Sure, it’s bad. The Star might be assholes, but they’re smart assholes. They’re not gonna lie about what they saw.”
When we’ve rounded the corner off my street, Dave hands me my mosquito repellent. Iceberg vodka.
“I had to lie to Steffie,” I say as I unscrew the cap. The click-click-click of the metal seal breaking relaxes me instantly, begins to take away the pain of last night’s hangover. “Now she’s gonna go to school, and everyone’s gonna call her a crack baby. Or worse. And little Dougie in kindergarten—at least the teachers are right there, won’t let it get too bad.”
“Renata won’t keep them home today?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. But that’s worse. If their crack smoking father prevents them from getting an education.” I take a long glug. Another.
“Chin up, Robbie.” Dave sounds like my high school football coach again, the guy who pushed me onto the field when I wanted to stay in the locker room and shove Cheetos down my throat so I wouldn’t hear them chant Fat Ford. He took me from a big lump of loser and turned me into a guy who could do things. Only three games into the season, I was already getting my first hand job from a cheerleader.
He says, “Me and Sandro are gonna spend today finding that video. Pretty sure it’s on Dixon Road. Won’t be any trouble getting it back.”
“Thanks, Coach.” One more long swig and the lie to Steffie starts to fade, like a TV show I once watched.
“Your only job is to look forward down that field.” He gives me a small smile, though his eyes stay front and center on the road. He doesn’t get judgy when I drink before 8 a.m. Whatever gets you through the game, that’s his attitude. “Relax and leave this to me. You pay me good money for my judgment.”
Well, the city does. I feel like a fucking hypocrite spending a hundred and thirty grand on Dave when I took the job to clean up the gravy train. But if he can keep me in office instead of letting someone named Chow or Vaughan slip into power and spend millions on arts and crafts for homeless people, he’s saving taxpayers a fortune. I down another swig of vodka to make that okay, too.
“You gonna give me play-by-play hand signals, just like the old days?”
“Hand signals, talking points. The whole nine yards. You just be mayor. Me and Dougie got the rest covered.”
Dave pulls into a strip mall parking lot.
“Where we going?” I say. “I gotta be at City Hall.”
“First, we’re grabbing a bite. We gotta meet someone.”
Reluctantly, I leave the bottle in the car.
In the diner, my lawyer’s already in a booth. Dennis Morris. His name always makes me want to say, Hey buddy, you know you got two first names and no last name? But Dougie and Dave say he’s a shark, top of the food chain with teeth that won’t stop chomping.
“You got nothing to worry about,” Two First Names tells me while I eat my second breakfast. Greasy eggs to meet my greasy lawyer. “Even if the video gets released, you’ll be Toronto’s Marion Barry. So you take a hit in the polls. Next election’s a long way off, lots of time to show voters a brand new you.”
I stab a chunk of sausage on my fork, add two home fries and shove the load into my mouth. I like this place. Nothing complicated like quinoa or kale on the menu. Half the ceiling tiles are missing so I can see the duct work overhead. Two points for Morris for coming to the jungle in his fancy suit, sitting here all comfortable like we’re in his Forest Hill living room. But then I guess he’s used to dealing with scumbags. People charged with shit. Damn, I just became one of those scumbags overnight.
I stick the other half of the sausage in my mouth and drown my new reality in juicy globs of pork fat. I wish this place was licensed. But even if it was, it’s too early to serve booze. Maybe I should change the law.
When I’m nearly done chewing, I say, “What if the police see the tape?”
“First, it’s the alleged tape. Never forget that. Second, if all you’re doing is puffing from a pipe, they’ll have nothing to convict you for.”
“Okay.” I hope he’s right.
“We’re gonna feed you a line that sounds like strong denial, but there’s gonna be a Bill Clinton curve in it so if the video does come out, you can point out you weren’t actually lying.”
“I hate lying to my city.”
“I just said you won’t be lying.” He gives me a smile, and I can see why they call him a shark. Guy looks like he’s never heard of a moral dilemma, only a legal one that can be solved by moving words around on paper. “You’ll keep your job no matter how this plays. That’s what you hired me for, right?”
“You’re a criminal lawyer. I hired you to keep me out of jail.”
I’m glad when Dave stands up, says we gotta get to work. Being mayor, saving taxpayers money, is the one thing I can do right.
YOU ARE READING
High Times at City Hall
FanficWho is Rob Ford when the cameras are off and the microphones aren't aimed at his face? What motivates him? Why does he party so hard? Why does he say such horrible things that make him look like an idiot? Does his private life matter if his job comm...
