Yes, in fact— Hans had made himself at home, in the thirty or so minutes in which he’d been left alone (and therefore unsupervised) at Senator Corrigan’s office. His posture on the chair was less than presentable — he’d dropped the gentleman act only five minutes in, and swore to pick it back up once needed), his leg crossed lazily over his knee; phone drawn out in one hand, glass of whiskey in the other. Even Hans had the sensibility as to not drink on the job, but when Corrigan’s secretary had so kindly offered, it’d just be rude to refuse.
On his phone, the online page of The Washington Post— and the piling up of comments under the subject of an underwhelming subway bombing. Underwhelming it had been — no fatalities, come on —, and over exaggerated the reactions as such. Hans’ face shows just as much indignation and he scrolls past.
Just then the door clicks open and Hans keeps his promise— just barely. He readjusts his position on the chair only so he’s sitting straight up, back flat against the lining, but the crossed legs and whiskey still give him away. The phone he clicks back into a black screen.
“Senator Corrigan,” Hans greets him, in the kind of worn casualty that no longer feels honest. And a smile that says, I’ve been here forever— and I hate you for it. “Sarah insisted I come in and wait here.” He shakes his glass to Walter, making the liquid swirl on the bottom. “Also Sarah."
"I’m here representing Big Oil,” he says then. “So I think you can answer that question yourself.”
There’s a clock that hangs above the door to his office, its face never more than a quick glance away from where he sits behind his desk; currently it reads half-past eight, forty-five minutes later than when he customarily arrives on the Hill. Judging by how much — or rather, how little — whiskey is left in the other man’s glass, it’s safe to assume that Starke has been waiting for almost that same length of time. Walter almost feels bad for delaying their unexpected meeting.
“Seems she’s taken care of you, then,” the senator replies, the unspoken So your wait wasn’t all that bad, then, was it? hanging somewhere in the space between them. Sarah had been his wife’s idea, back when he had been an enterprising statesman with a bad leg and virtually no government experience past what little the Arlington Police Department could offer him. Lynn had been insistent that if he won, he should pick a secretary who would bring some southern hospitality to the capitol — and nothing says hospitality quite like top-shelf liquor from Lynchburg.
“I don’t ask rhetorical questions, Mr. Starke, so I don’t appreciate rhetorical answers.” His drawl is as even as his gaze, smooth as sweet tea and with a bite to match the whiskey pooled at the bottom of the other man’s glass. During his first election he had been asked extensively about his service as a police officer, and often he highlighted how his role as a crisis negotiator would serve him well in Washington. He had been half-right; for some on the Hill, all they want is to be told what’s best for them and relish in the the relief of having the burden of choice removed from their shoulders.
Which is ultimately an irrelevant fact at the present moment, because Hans Starke sure as hell isn’t one of those saps.
“If you’re here to discuss February’s energy reform bill, then I’ll save you the trouble: unless the democrats decide to give it an extensive overhaul, I have no intention of voting in favor of it. You and I may not agree on green energy, but I think we can both agree that this bill is just an attempt to push as much of the administration’s agenda as it can while the Democrats still hold a majority in Congress.”
That could be the end of the conversation — could be. But nothing in Washington is ever as simple as a five-minute exchange, and it chafes him too much to cut corners now. “That said, if the bill gets brought back later on, I can’t say I won’t vote for it. Virginia’s already been adopting a gradual clean energy initiative since 2010.” And this is too goddamn much all at once. Starke doesn’t need to explain to him that any money the coal and oil companies use to transition to solar energy will come directly from cut salaries and massive layoffs — he’s been hearing it from every voter in Appalachian Virginia since November 2016.
“So, how much is Big Oil willing to bend? Did they send you here to negotiate or hand us ultimatums?”
