After everything the senator had done for him the man should be licking the vomit off Senator Allen’s Italian-leather shoes, not pointing and laughing. Jason had never understood the connection between the two men. He knew they had both attended Florida State University at the same time, but he couldn’t imagine them being friends even as young men. They seemed too different. Sidel had been a linebacker for the Seminoles while Senator Allen headed the debate club. And yet there appeared to be a strong allegiance, at least on the senator’s part.
Allegiance, unrelenting loyalty, Jason certainly understood. The whole concept was one he had had to learn the hard way. He came from people who trusted no one, who knew how to steal and cheat and lie so well they didn’t realize there were boundaries. Jason supposed it wasn’t much different than politicians. No wonder he had been attracted to D.C. when he was old enough to buy a motorcycle—a sleek, powerful Yamaha—and drive as far away as possible. He got a job as a courier and muscled his cycle around the capital, squeezing in and out of traffic, pushing the limits, breaking a few rules. But then he banged up himself and his bike when he darted in front of a black SUV.
Jason still delivered the bloodstained package despite three broken ribs and a badly bruised knee. The SUV owner, some hotshot foreign diplomat, threatened to have Jason’s license pulled. Didn’t matter, the bike was busted up worse than Jason. He figured he was out of business.
Three days later he got a message from the courier service that the recipient of his last delivery wanted to meet him. Immediately Jason thought he was fucked, another asshole upset about the blood, or maybe there had been something important inside that got crushed. He never imagined that the recipient had heard the rumors about Jason’s heroic delivery and actually wanted to offer him a job. Senator John Quincy Allen told Jason he reminded the senator of himself when he was a young man. Evidently it was something good because less than two years later Jason Brill became the youngest chief of staff to a U.S. senator on the Hill. No one had ever shown such trust in Jason before.
Now Jason couldn’t help wondering what William Sidel had done to garner such trust. Everything he had read about the man painted him as a simpleminded, down-home good ole boy who happened to be a bit of an entrepreneurial whiz. Sidel had no particular talent. Instead, he possessed something much better—the gift of bullshit, the ability to ignite and excite others about his schemes using only words and promises, getting them to follow, to believe, to create, to rally and even to invest. Only, thermal conversion wasn’t a scheme at all. It was brilliant, but it also wasn’t Sidel’s idea. He had bought the patent, hired one of the founding scientists, then added to and improvised the process enough to claim it as his own.
Sidel’s witty repartee made him the life of the party and his annoying banter made him everyone’s buddy only by default because no one wanted to end up as the butt of his one-sided jokes. The man could pull a zinger even on the best of the best. Jason remembered when a cocky reporter from E: the Environmental Magazine tried to attack Sidel by calling him a snake-oil salesman, Sidel quipped, “It’s not snake oil, it’s real oil. You’d know that if you were smart enough to read your own magazine.”
And the thing is, Sidel was right. It was the real deal. It was an ingenious process. Jason was proud the senator was a part of it. But he didn’t trust Sidel and he wasn’t sure why Senator Allen did.
“How do you put up with that guy?” Jason couldn’t help it. He had to ask.
“Who? Sidel?”
“Of course, Sidel.”
Senator Allen finished wiping his silk tie, balled up the last towel and tossed it on the floor across from them. “He gets things done, my boy. He gets things done.” And then he turned to watch
Allegiance, unrelenting loyalty, Jason certainly understood. The whole concept was one he had had to learn the hard way. He came from people who trusted no one, who knew how to steal and cheat and lie so well they didn’t realize there were boundaries. Jason supposed it wasn’t much different than politicians. No wonder he had been attracted to D.C. when he was old enough to buy a motorcycle—a sleek, powerful Yamaha—and drive as far away as possible. He got a job as a courier and muscled his cycle around the capital, squeezing in and out of traffic, pushing the limits, breaking a few rules. But then he banged up himself and his bike when he darted in front of a black SUV.
Jason still delivered the bloodstained package despite three broken ribs and a badly bruised knee. The SUV owner, some hotshot foreign diplomat, threatened to have Jason’s license pulled. Didn’t matter, the bike was busted up worse than Jason. He figured he was out of business.
Three days later he got a message from the courier service that the recipient of his last delivery wanted to meet him. Immediately Jason thought he was fucked, another asshole upset about the blood, or maybe there had been something important inside that got crushed. He never imagined that the recipient had heard the rumors about Jason’s heroic delivery and actually wanted to offer him a job. Senator John Quincy Allen told Jason he reminded the senator of himself when he was a young man. Evidently it was something good because less than two years later Jason Brill became the youngest chief of staff to a U.S. senator on the Hill. No one had ever shown such trust in Jason before.
Now Jason couldn’t help wondering what William Sidel had done to garner such trust. Everything he had read about the man painted him as a simpleminded, down-home good ole boy who happened to be a bit of an entrepreneurial whiz. Sidel had no particular talent. Instead, he possessed something much better—the gift of bullshit, the ability to ignite and excite others about his schemes using only words and promises, getting them to follow, to believe, to create, to rally and even to invest. Only, thermal conversion wasn’t a scheme at all. It was brilliant, but it also wasn’t Sidel’s idea. He had bought the patent, hired one of the founding scientists, then added to and improvised the process enough to claim it as his own.
Sidel’s witty repartee made him the life of the party and his annoying banter made him everyone’s buddy only by default because no one wanted to end up as the butt of his one-sided jokes. The man could pull a zinger even on the best of the best. Jason remembered when a cocky reporter from E: the Environmental Magazine tried to attack Sidel by calling him a snake-oil salesman, Sidel quipped, “It’s not snake oil, it’s real oil. You’d know that if you were smart enough to read your own magazine.”
And the thing is, Sidel was right. It was the real deal. It was an ingenious process. Jason was proud the senator was a part of it. But he didn’t trust Sidel and he wasn’t sure why Senator Allen did.
“How do you put up with that guy?” Jason couldn’t help it. He had to ask.
“Who? Sidel?”
“Of course, Sidel.”
Senator Allen finished wiping his silk tie, balled up the last towel and tossed it on the floor across from them. “He gets things done, my boy. He gets things done.” And then he turned to watch
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